


Zenith: Tsumi

by Shapooda



Series: Zenith [3]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Eldritch, Gen, Grinding, Hell Fic, I lied about the angst, M/M, Pain, Shinigami, Supernatural Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2019-06-22 22:52:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 92,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15592551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shapooda/pseuds/Shapooda
Summary: 3 months after the end of Zenith, Ichigo accidentally unleashes hell.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes:**

 

I hope you likes my first actual offshoot story o~o I wanna write some fun no pressure shenanigans. Bit of exposition and banter in the beginning, but I have an arc in mind, not just meandering nothings.

 

**Ikiryō**

 

_ “Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall” - William Shakespeare  _

  
  


\--- xxx ---

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

**_Approx 3 months after the end of Zenith_ **

 

Giving Grimmjow the tools he needed to use la sangre to travel was one of the most convenient things Ichigo had ever done. Grimmjow fucking hated being delegated to the messenger/errand boy, but he had a feeling the arrancar relished the freedom.

 

Taking notes from Adaliz and the medallions she’d crafted for the Sternritter, Ichigo condensed la sangre into a small coin shape. Took him long enough to figure out how to keep it from simply rejoining the desert, but he managed. He even put a little design on it; a panther. Grimmjow got a kick out of that, especially since Ichigo didn't indulge his hollow’s insistence on making it a kitten.

 

Grimmjow couldn't use it to move about outside Hueco Mundo without a good deal of effort, but it certainly worked more efficiently than sonido. 

 

They had put together a loose system where Ichigo would stabilize the borders of Hueco Mundo, and Grimmjow would scout ahead, looking for the worst of it. “Stabilizing" consisted of concentrating and letting his instinct soothe la sangre back into a wavelength that was more normal and less chaotic. It would settle on it's own, but the dangai needed to be traversable again within their lifetimes. 

 

While Ichigo worked, la sangre saved Grimmjow from having to sonido the whole way back once he found a physical point of contact where la sangre was a bit too aggressive.

 

Despite the fact that they frequented the borders of Hueco Mundo, they ran into plenty of hollows. That was fine with Ichigo, he needed fodder to leave with Szayel. He hadn’t forgotten about Starrk, and his conscience hadn’t caved under the weight of tearing apart the souls of hollows. 

 

There was an arrogance that he couldn’t pretend didn’t exist, an arrogance he’d seen in Mictlan, that whispered that these hollows were  _ his _ . Indulging that small voice under the guise of the greater good was likely a bad idea, but he did it nonetheless. 

 

His inner spirits couldn't council him on morality, they were weapons first, they protected his soul, but not from bad moral judgement. If he was alive and sane they were perfectly happy. 

 

Ichigo stepped from la sangre and dropped an unconscious, bleeding adjuchas behind Szayel. The scientist flinched, then slowly turned, overcompensating for being startled at all. The arrancar wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Must you do that?”

 

“Sneak up on you?”

 

Szayel shot him an unamused look, crouching down before the adjuchas. “Sully my lab.”

 

“I have to get my kicks somehow,” Ichigo said. Fighting with Zangetsu was overkill, but fighting with claws was bloody and a bit more entertaining. It was also messy, or rather, it  _ had _ been messy.

 

All hollows were born from la sangre, in the midst of figuring out how to make Grimmjow a travel medallion, he’d figured out how to use la sangre to eat the blood off of him,and with practice, got it to devour any blood on Grimmjow without la sangre trying to  _ eat Grimmjow _ .

 

“Almost perfect,” Szayel muttered, gingerly rolling the adjuchas to its back. He kept saying that, and Ichigo could only assume the arrancar was talking about him, even if he didn’t know what the fuck he was on about.

 

Taking a small pink cube from his jacket, Szayel dropped it into the hole in the adjuchas’ chest. It hovered there, suspended, and Ichigo knew by then that it paralyzed weaker hollows. He didn’t know why it was  _ pink _ , he just assumed that was artistic license. 

 

Szayel’s fraccion had mysteriously disappeared, which left Szayel to do all the dirty work himself. He was the black sheep of the arrancar, thanks to all the negative attention ichigo showed him, on top of his shitty attitude; no other arrancar wanted any part of that. That left Szayel with little assistance, and after the disappearance of his first fraccion, Ichigo couldn’t say he felt sorry for him.

 

Ichigo asked, as he usually did. “Any progress?”

 

Szayel looked at him from beneath his mask. “You bring me weak adjuchas that can barely withstand a bit of prodding and you expect results?” He let out a derisive snort and stood. “If you bring me trash to work with, Kurosaki, do not be surprised when the results are trash.”

 

“This is what’s out there, make it work,” Ichigo said. 

 

“If I had an arrancar…” 

 

Szayel always tried, and Ichigo’s answer was always the same. “No.” 

 

Ichigo shifted to leave, but this time Szayel stopped him. “Wait.” Ichigo paused, ad Szayel lifted a tablet from the desk behind him. “It’s well known that your ability to sense others is abysmal. Grimmjow is better, but his own abilities are dampened by his connection to your soul.”

 

“How do you know that?” Ichigo asked. He hadn’t told him, and Szayel hadn’t had contact with Grimmjow in months.

 

“I’m observant,” Szayel said, and it didn’t really answer Ichigo’s question. Ichigo could only assume he’d been watching Grimmjow from a distance, before all the business with Sunyata. His conclusion might have very well been drawn from the fact that neither of them noticed him.

 

“What’s your point?” Ichigo asked.

 

“Given  _ you _ can’t find a suitable test subject, I started looking for you.” He touched the screen, then turned it around and handed it to him. He’d seen similar swaths of color when Szayel was showing him Alteza’s influence. There was a streak of black going through the screen, with various dots of color scattered throughout. He felt like he was looking at a confusing and complicated weather map. “What am I looking at?”

 

Szayel explained, “A trench. The...flavor of these hollow’s reiatsu is more like Grimmjow, or yours. It’s been tainted by Alteza.”

 

Ichigo’s eyes snapped to Szayel’s. “How long have you been sitting on this information?”

 

Szayel waved him off. “A couple of days since you last decided to dump garbage in my lab.” His eyes held a manic edge as he continued, “ _ I _ found them,  _ I want one _ . A test subject like that might even live.”

 

Casting his senses out for a landmark like that, Ichigo handed the tablet back and answered, “I’ll think about it.”

 

“Think hard, Kurosaki,” Szayel advised. “Most things are possible, they’re only determined by how badly you want it.” He laughed, the sound not entirely sane. “You of all people should know that.”

 

“I don’t need a sermon,” Ichigo growled.   
  


Szayel shrugged and fell back in his chair. “As you say.”

 

Ichigo left before he felt even more of a desire to kill Szayel. The arrancar had a point. 

 

He reappeared a few feet before Grimmjow, the Espada sprawled out napping on a quartz-like wedge of protruding bone. This far out, that was far more common than the ruins he’d fixed, but this area in particular was littered with quartz arches and splintered spires. The shorter ones made decent lookouts and escapes from the sand.

 

Grimmjow sensed his mood and sat up. “I know Szayel is a piece of work, but he usually doesn’t piss you off this bad. What did he say?”

 

Ichigo said, “Shockingly, this time, it’s what he did. Sort of.” Grimmjow slipped from his perch, waiting for some explanation. “I think he might have found conduits.”

 

Grimmjow’s eyes widened. “What? Why didn’t you sense them?” Grimmjow had a personal stake in this. If there were conduits and they were still alive, it shone some light on his future, a, uncertain future that neither of them could shake.

 

Ichigo said, “There’s probably a few reasons for that. Primarily, I'm bad at it. It could also be that they’re so assimilated they don’t feel like individuals anymore.” 

 

That was an unpleasant thought. Grimmjow mirrored his sentiments with a grumble, “Lovely.”

 

Ichigo continued, “Szayel says he found reiatsu signatures at the bottom of a trench. Might take awhile for me to line up my mental map with the real one, but I’ll find it.”

 

“A trench?” Grimmjow questioned.

 

“Yeah, a really deep hole.”

 

“I know what a trench is,” Grimmjow snapped. “Why a trench?”

 

“The deeper you go, the denser la sangre is. Remember when we were ditching the Hogyoku with Alteza?”

 

Grimmjow made a face, absently lifting his hand to his chest. “Yeah, how could I fucking forget.”

 

Ichigo hadn’t wanted to consider what exactly was at the bottom of that drop. Likely something similar to what he felt outside the world, and he wasn’t eager to go back. 

 

“So we find them...then what?” Grimmjow asked. “They can’t possibly be friendly.”

 

“They would have to have been Mictlan’s conduits to still be alive. I want to know how they’re holding up.” That was a pretty optimistic way to frame it, it probably wasn’t going to be pretty.

 

Grimmjow looked unsettled, grumbling, “I’m not sure I want to know.”

 

“Well, I do. You don’t have to come,” Ichigo pointed out. He sat, cross legged. He was so used to the stance for jinzen, he saw no reason to try anything else. 

 

“I’m going,” Grimmjow snarled. “I’m not scared.”

 

Ichigo rolled his eyes and closed them, concentrating. “Yeah, yeah, heard it all before.” Grimmjow at least lapsed into silence and let him focus. He extended his awareness down into the desert, searching for subtleties, unlike what he usually did. When he reached for la sangre, he normally separated things into hollows, sand, and la sangre, he hadn’t ever thought to break it down further than that.

 

Now he had to actually  _ look _ , and after long moments letting his consciousness sink into the darker recesses of his soul, he opened his eyes. He wasn’t seeing what was before him, he was seeing Hueco Mundo from within, and apart from it. It was a strange way to look, but it was easier than casting his senses out for all of Hueco Mundo at once, it stretched his awareness too thin. 

 

It was no wonder Mictlan hadn’t had to  _ try _ to find him. Now that he was looking, he could pick out the familiar kinship of a conduit, albeit one many hundreds of years removed from himself. He dragged his consciousness back and blinked, disoriented for a few seconds while he got used to the shift in perspective. “Found them.”

 

Extending a hand to Grimmjow, the Espada wrinkled his nose and took a step back. “I ain’t gonna hold yer hand, Kurosaki.”

 

“You’re a conduit, but this isn’t exactly safe, and I’m a terrible guardian.” Ichigo laid out an ultimatum. “You’re going to hold my hand, or you’re going to stay here.” He saw Grimmjow physically fight with a reflexive insult. “I don’t bite,” Ichigo added dryly.

 

Grimmjow growled, “Pff,  _ yet _ . Last game of do-si-do we played you dislocated my arm.”

 

“Sorry,” Ichigo said flatly.

 

Grimmjow bared his teeth and slapped his arm down in his hand, gripping his forearm. “Don’t ‘sorry’ me, ya ain’t sorry.”

 

Ichigo chuckled. “Yeah, I’m not. Brace yourself. Where we’re going, the reishi is as dense as La sangre.”

 

By that point, Grimmjow knew when he told him to buckle up, he wasn’t fucking around. His grip tightened along with every wirestrung muscle in the arrancar’s body. At least he was prepared. 

 

Ichigo pulled them through la sangre into the depths. Their new environment was dark, and it was cold. Bitterly cold, and heavy, even for Ichigo. It was a spiritual heaviness that didn’t necessarily weigh on his limbs like gravity, but it pulled at him, the brush of what felt like hands ghosting over his skin. From the way Grimmjow’s legs nearly buckled, he didn’t think the arrancar was having quite the same experience. 

 

The arrancar flinched, jerking Ichigo’s grip on his arm with a startled hiss. “The fuck is this, Kurosaki?” His voice fell flat with nothing to bounce off of, muffled in his ears. 

 

Ichigo answered, “Alteza. If it gets to be too much, I’m sending you back.” Grimmjow flinched violently into him like a panicked animal. “ _ Grimmjow _ .”

 

Situating himself so his back was almost flush against Ichigo’s, the arrancar answered, “Fine, I’m fine.” Grimmjow’s voice was strained, and it was no wonder. Good instincts made this hell, and if Ichigo wasn’t used to it, it would have been no different for him. 

 

Ichigo stood silently, focusing on the dark, and Grimmjow eventually asked, voice hushed, “Can you see?”

 

Ichigo’s answer was concise. “Yes.” He watched the shadows congeal and shift, his brain catching the pattern even before he was sure what he was looking at. He tilted his head, watching the thing in morbid curiosity. The shade looked human-ish, wandering, either oblivious or uncaring of his presence.

 

“Kurosaki?”

 

Ichigo tugged on la sangre, disrupting the shade’s existence. It froze, then lunged with an empty, hollow howl. Grimmjow jerked back, instinctively reacting, but Ichigo had a firm grip on his jacket. 

 

The shade moved at ludicrous speed, but it didn’t matter. All it took was a thought to trap the shade mid motion, the shadows that comprised its form shivering, frozen in its purpose. It was nothing but a mess of instinct and impulse and darkness, bound by his will through Alteza. It was pitiful, it barely felt alive at all. If Ichigo was more merciful, he might have destroyed it. 

 

“Relax, Grimmjow,” Ichigo said, “It can’t hurt you.” Not when he was hovering right over it, he’d have to be unconscious to not be able to handle something so inexorably tied to la sangre. 

 

“Can’t see shit,” Grimmjow complained.

 

Ichigo took a step closer, seeing nothing on this shade that could identify it as a soul, or anything that might have made it a hollow. “I got it, you’re safe,” Ichigo reassured him. 

 

“Then what’s taking so long?” Grimmjow demanded.

 

Ichigo tilted his head, wondering what held it together in a human form. Memories? “I don’t want it to fall apart.”

 

“You’re not gonna  _ keep  _ it?!”

 

“Hush, I’m right here,” Ichigo snapped. “Give me a minute.” He reached out for it, sticking his arm through its chest. It was like sticking his arm into a cloud, there was no resistance at all, but there was a wash of feelings, dull and distant, as if he was touching a hollow’s heart.

 

Removing his hand, Ichigo wrapped la sangre in and around it, then pulled them all through la sangre to the surface. Ichigo took his time with the shade, letting Grimmjow go once they reached the surface. Grimmjow jerked back, startled by the presence of a thing he didn’t even know was there up until a few seconds ago.

 

“How you holdin’ up?” Ichigo asked.

 

“Fine,” Grimmjow growled. He sounded rattled, but he was recovering more quickly than he might have in the past. The Espada had seen enough nightmares to get over it when it was actually harmless. “The fuck  _ is _ that?”

 

“A shadow,” Ichigo answered. “It feels...odd, like a ghost; a bundle of blurry memories and forgotten feelings.”

 

“Poetic,” Grimmjow grumbled.

 

Ichigo shot him a look. “Just telling you what I felt.” It stood there, purposeless, and started to lose shape.  Ichigo hit it with more of la sangre, keeping it swirling around the shade just to be safe. Without veritable life support, it wasn’t going to last.

 

“It used to be a hollow?” Grimmjow asked. The Espada risked getting closer, still tense and jumpy. “Doesn’t have a hollow hole.”

 

“I don’t think you could even call it alive at this point. The other two were in similar shape.” When they were this deteriorated, Ichigo doubted there was a difference between them. 

 

Grimmjow's voice held an edge Ichigo couldn't identify. “This'll happen to me?”

 

Ichigo turned to look at him, grimacing. “No, I don't think so.”

 

Grimmjow stared back at him, eyes narrowed. “Why not?” 

 

“Mictlan was killed by Adaliz, these conduits had no way to siphon enough of la sangre to stay alive, not without a host around.”

 

“So if you die…” Grimmjow trailed off, filling in the blanks himself. “I  _ need _ la sangre to live?”

 

“You saw what happened to Candice.” Ichigo thought Grimmjow was aware of that, but apparently he hadn't done his job in explaining it. “Think of yourself like an addict, with no hope of recovery.”

 

“Goddamn, Kurosaki, you don't pull punches.”

 

Ichigo snorted. “I do, but you can't say I coddle you.”

 

“You held my hand like a fucking chaperone.” Grimmjow argued. 

 

Ichigo smirked, and decided to save Grimmjow’s pride and not call him out. He did give him a better answer. “Alteza can be greedy, and I didn't want you to get lost.”

 

He thought Grimmjow paled a bit at that comment. The Espada knew he worded things lightly, and that the situation was probably far worse than he anticipated. “Why did you let me go, then?!”

 

Ichigo circled the shade and answered absently, “Builds character.”

 

“What the fuck does that mean? How do you build character if you’re dead.”

 

“You’re fine.”

 

Grimmjow growled something under his breath, something that was probably an insult, and left him to his task. Ichigo said, “I’ll be back.” He didn’t wait for Grimmjow to respond before he jumped back to Szayel’s lab. The scientist was startled, albeit less startled since he was actually facing him this time around.

 

Szayel opened his mouth to complain, then his eyes focused on what he brought, once he realized it wasn’t the vestiges of his jump into his lab. Any annoyance was quickly forgotten. “What is  _ this _ ?” He got closer, and reached out to touch. It seems the scientist was no more immune to curiosity than anyone else.

 

Ichigo caught his wrist before his could make contact and said, “Your shade. Who knows if you’ll even be able to study it, it’s made up of la sangre to its core. Can you sense anything?”

 

Szayel took his hand back, heeding his silent warning, and circled it, careful not to let la sangre touch him. His answer was distracted, already lost in his own thoughts, “Not much.” Sharp eyes snapped to Ichigo. “What do  _ you _ sense?”

 

“Remains of a heart, broken memories,” Ichigo's suppressed a shrug. “It's a lot like a heavily diluted hollow. It's mostly an amalgamation of instincts, I don't sense a distinct soul, or souls, just flickers.”

 

“Is that as elaborate as you can get?” Szayel asked. From the look ichigo shot at him, he assumed as much and said, “If it doesn't even feel like a soul, it likely won't be helpful to your little project.”

 

Ichigo said, “I give it to you, or kill it. I see no reason to let it go to waste.”

 

Szayel chuckled. “Callous, Kurosaki.”

 

He ignored the comment and said, “When you’ve learned all you can, tell me. It needs a steady stream of la sangre to keep its form.”

 

Szayel turned to the computer and spoke incredulously, “As you wish.”

 

Ichigo frowned at him and jumped back to Grimmjow, annoyed again. The Espada growled, “Always puts you in a bad mood.”

 

“Don’t act like you’re any better.”

 

“Didn’t say I was,” Grimmjow said, straightening with a stretch. “So what now?  _ More _ work?”

 

Ichigo scoffed, “There’s always going to be more work. I’m going to go to Soul Society.”

 

“For what purpose? Grimmjow demanded. 

 

The Espada didn’t like Soul Society much. To be fair, neither did Ichigo. Sometimes he got shouted at, which was a  _ treat _ . Too many people staring; too many people in general. At least in Hueco Mundo if he got claustrophobic in a crowd he didn’t feel so bad killing someone. 

 

Ichigo answered, “To try something, and I also want to look for shades.”

 

“Shades? The broken conduits? What for? They’re useless.”

 

“Mainly,” said Ichigo, “to find the greatest concentration of Kugeki. And I’m curious what happens to their soul when they die.”

 

“If it even  _ is _ a soul, “Grimmjow reminded.

 

“Exactly.”

 

Grimmjow gestured dismissively. “Then let’s get it over with.” He added sarcastically, “I can't’ wait to go somewhere _ I hate _ so I can come back and  _ do work. _ ”

 

Ichigo rolled his eyes. “I forgot, you have a busy schedule entirely comprised of self-sustenance, fighting, and recovering from said fight.”

 

Grimmjow grinned like this was positive and Ichigo sighed. “Let’s just go.”

  
  


\--- xxx ---

 

**Kyoraku Shunsui**

 

He often wondered how there could still be so much deskwork to do when there was barely a real desk to work from. Sometimes when he was up late at night staring down at paper, he wished the semi-apocalypse had destroyed all paper. He was deeply grateful to hear Kurosaki had shown up. 

 

The lack of notice might have annoyed others, but frankly, Kyoraku could only treat it like a well deserved break. Normally when Kurosaki showed up, the hybrid worked and he got to watch. 

 

Stepping from his glorified tent into the street, he walked from the center of their camp to the Eastern edge, meeting Kurosaki where they always met. The tree was huge, its branches stretched high enough to be seen from the opposite edge of the camp. It was a decent beacon, and also a decent walk, but Kurosaki made it clear he wasn’t interested in wandering through a crowd of people that feared him.

 

He caught sight of Ichigo’s fraccion first, the Espada sprawled beneath the tree sleeping. When he approached, without opening his eyes, the Espada knocked on the base of the tree and shouted, “Oy! Kurosaki!”

 

The Espada still hadn’t moved or opened his eyes, but that wasn’t unusual. Kyoraku caught movement among the branches, and watched as Kurosaki stepped from his perch, landing in an easy crouch when his feet struck the ground. Straightening, Kurosaki lifted his hand in a halfhearted wave and said, “Hey, you’re looking,” he hesitated, “well.”

 

Kyoraku grinned. “Liar, I’m exhausted. I look every bit my age.”

 

Ichigo laughed. “Well, there’s no fixing that, so  _ I  _ wasn’t going to say anything.”

 

“What brings you here?” Kyoraku asked. It wasn't like chit chat wasn't nice, but if he let himself procrastinate, he wasn't ever going to get back to work. 

 

“I counted about…” The hybrid looked up in thought, lessening his violent appearance. “About 200 or so shinigami stranded in the living world. I figure I’ll swap them out. They’ve been stuck in living world for awhile now, they probably want to come home and see what’s happened.” It wasn't as if they couldn't make a senkaimon, but the way was still too dangerous to cross without heavy risk, so he'd forbidden anyone to try. Kurosaki noted his confusion and elaborated.

 

Grimmjow opened an eye, scowling at Kurosaki. “ _ That's _ why we're here? Why do they get a pass?”

 

“Because  _ shinigami _ don't eat people,” Kurosaki said. “I have enough unruly hollows without adding to the bunch because the shinigami can't do their job.”

 

Grimmjow closed his eyes again. “Fair enough.”

 

“Glad I have your approval,” Kurosaki muttered sarcastically. 

 

Kyoraku asked, “Unruly hollows?”

 

Kurosaki explained briefly. “Starving hollows turn violent real fast.” That sounded like a bigger issue than Kurosaki was making it, but the hybrid didn't elaborate.

 

Kyoraku said, “That’s...surprisingly thoughtful, Kurosaki-san.”

 

Kurosaki tilted his head, regarding him curiously. When the hybrid barely blinked at all, it made him look decidedly inhuman. He tried not to snoop, but the best way Kyoraku could label the emotions he felt from him would be ‘surprise’.

 

Kurosaki’s pause only lasted a moment before a bemused smile crossed his face. “I might have a hole in my chest, but I’m not heartless.”

 

Kyoraku wasn’t sure if he could recover from that accusation. “Maaah, I didn’t mean to imply-”

 

Grimmjow snorted loudly and said, “He fucking knows what you mean, he's messin’ with you.”

 

Ichigo gave Kyoraku a forgiving look. “Your doubt is deserved. I'm not known for being...” He searched for an appropriate word and in the end, he settled. “Nice.”

 

Kyoraku said, “You're very practical.”

 

“I am,” Ichigo agreed, “So I can't collect any points for morality, because this costs me nothing but my time and works in my favor.”

 

“How would you bring them here? La sangre?” He’d seen the effect that it had on hollows, he couldn’t imagine what it felt like for shinigami.

 

Kurosaki alleviated those concerns. “Actually, I was going to use the Kugeki. I’m better with la sangre because, well,” he gestured at himself like that was explanation enough, and Kyoraku thought it was a pretty compelling argument. “I can’t promise it won’t be unpleasant, I haven’t actually used it on anyone but myself, but it’ll be a damn sight better than la sangre.”

“You’re confident that it’s…”

 

“Safe?” Kurosaki finished. “Any discomfort seems to be temporary, at least as far as la sangre and hollows are concerned.” 

 

He held up his hand and from his claws downward, his arm began to disappear, distorted as if through some rippled lens. The light bent around the edge, like a singed prismatic line, and Kyoraku noted that it was actually rather pretty, if not very jarring. Kurosaki waved the kugeki away and said, “I practiced. I’ll get more efficient with time, so it may still be unpleasant, but it’s an option. It’s up to you if you want to use it.”

 

Kyoraku could see the extra effort Kurosaki made to try to hold himself in check. The hybrid went out of his way to leave the actual decisions up to Kyoraku himself. It went beyond thoughtful, the hybrid was well aware of what he was, and all of the implications that came with it. If Kurosaki wanted, he could kill them all, he could demand respect, but he had discovered it was rather difficult to get under Kurosaki’s skin. At least, he hadn’t seen anyone cross a line around him. The only one that didn’t seem to be even wary of Kurosaki was Grimmjow, and from the way they acted, and the arrancar’s position, it seemed to be a right that had been well earned. 

 

Taking all of that into account, Kyoraku said, “I’ll leave it up to the individual.” He gave Kurosaki a sad smile. “People are nervous enough around you, I won’t be making it any better by ordering them into an unpleasant situation.” He caught Grimmjow staring at him, the look on his face bitterly thoughtful until he caught Kyoraku's eyes and looked away.

 

Kyoraku called him out about it; if something was on Grimmjow’s mind, eventually Kurosaki would know about it. “You disagree?”

 

Grimmjow huffed, then stood, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Pisses me off is all. Fear, I get, but hatred?” He didn’t quite face him, clearly disinterested in engaging this particular topic.

 

Kurosaki looked like he’d heard this before, shooting Grimmjow a chiding look. If it bothered the hybrid, Kyoraku didn't feel it. Then again, Kurosaki was unfortunate enough to have been feared for a long time, he wouldn't be surprised if he was used to it. 

 

Kyoraku said, “Kurosaki-san is something different, something new, and to some, a scapegoat. These people had loved ones just disappear, they had their home destroyed. They never saw Reizei, so the only person left to hate is Kurosaki-san. Give it time.”

 

“It's fine, Grimmjow.”

 

Grimmjow ignored him and snarled, “How's that fair?”

 

“It isn't, but people are complicated, Grimmjow-san.”

 

The arrancar's eyes narrowed, looking a lot like he wanted to leave, but he stayed stubbornly rooted in place. 

 

From the uncomfortable look on Kurosaki's face, this was a frequent topic, and one he didn’t like to revisit. The hybrid was all too eager to change the subject. “I doubt the shinigami in living world are fully aware of the situation.” Kyoraku knew Urahara had reached out to the shinigami stationed in living world as a favor, but shinigami in living world were hard to get ahold of. They were counted on to check in, and with all the chaos, there was no one to check in with.  

 

Kurosaki continued, “I need to touch them to bring them with me, for one thing, and for another, I doubt they’ll recognize me by sight, and if they do, I mean, look at me.”

 

He looked like a particularly dangerous arrancar. Kyoraku grim sound of agreement. “That’s very true. I’ll need to send you with someone they’ll recognize and trust.”

 

Kurosaki threw out a shot in the dark. “How well known is Rukia?

 

Kyoraku hummed in thought. “Well, she  _ is _ a member of the Kuchiki clan, and her rank has been the source of some under the table gossip for quite some time. There’s a good chance they’ll recognize her.”

 

That seemed to brighten Kurosaki’s mood, asking, “She can come with us?” 

 

It was almost out of place to see such an unfiltered emotion in the other, Kyoraku was caught off guard by it. Even if his mind wasn’t already made up, he didn’t think he’d have the heart to crush his hopes. He chuckled and said, “Of course. If I didn’t, I’d never hear the end of it.” Not from Rukia, but from her soft-hearted captain. 

 

Kurosaki smiled, one of the few genuine smiles he’d ever seen on the hybrids face. It reminded him he was young, and it wasn’t such a bad thing to be reminded of. 

 

“Good,” Kurosaki said, “then if it’s okay with you, I have some _host_ _business_ to take care of.” The hybrid always said those words facetiously, but there was too much truth in it.

 

Kyoraku questioned, “Here?” If it was in Soul Society, it was more than curiosity, it was a sort of truce Kurosaki had laid down to be up front. He could do whatever the hell he wanted, but he tried to at least pretend to ask permission first.

 

Kurosaki said, “Not  _ here _ .” Kyoraku nearly rolled his eyes, but the hybrid was being semi-serious. He looked up at the sky. “Up there.”

 

Both he and Grimmjow looked at Kurosaki, baffled.

 

The hybrid answered as if it was something mundane, or he were only casually announcing the weather. “I found Reizei’s conduits.”

 

Kyoraku’s eyes widened. “They’re alive? I thought Orihime-san…”

 

A pained look softened Kurosaki’s expression, but it didn’t linger. He explained over his grief. “Apparently. Their souls are so weak, I can barely feel them; it’s no wonder he turned to a living soul.” He jabbed a thumb at the sky. “It seems the greatest concentration of Kugeki is midway between the top of the sky and the ground.”

 

“The top of the sky?” Kyoraku asked.

 

Kurosaki looked caught, as if he’d said something he hadn’t intended to. He didn’t answer his question, choosing instead to carry on. “I thought I might kill them.” He looked up again, his tone still too calm and casual for the subject to be altogether normal. “It seems fair.”

 

It was less the threat, and more the application of judgement. It was bizarre, to see the hybrid flip so quickly from the young man looking forward to seeing a friend, to the cold and powerful hybrid he’d seen obliterate Aizen and kill his mentor. It was a reminder that the person he was dealing with was dangerous.

 

Even so far removed from the situation, Kyoraku thought he might agree. “If I asked you not to?” It was a probing question, and both of them knew it.

 

Kurosaki stared up at the sky, at something Kyoraku couldn’t see, and answered wistfully. “I don’t know. It just seemed like something I should do.”

 

To Kyoraku’s surprise, Grimmjow spoke, “Whatever existence that is...” He looked at Kyoraku evenly, from one conduit to another. “It ain’t living. Nothing deserves that.”

 

Kyoraku believed him, though he still had to question Kurosaki’s motives. His own arrancar seemed to have more empathy for the situation than Ichigo. “Do what you like, Kurosaki-san.”

 

The hybrid dropped his head to look at him, trying to judge if Kyoraku meant what he said. It felt a bit unfair to have a window into his soul; he could feel Kurosaki’s indecision, and that was enough to reassure him. If Kurosaki could doubt, that was proof enough that the hybrid was still open to change.

 

\--- xxx ---

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

Grimmjow wasn’t thrilled to be left behind, but on the off chance the Kugeki was strong enough to harm him, he wasn’t going to risk it, especially with how strong Sunyata was. Curious, he tried to use la sangre to get closer, but it didn’t work, he was displaced to a part of the sky miles away. That was interesting, and he couldn’t help but picture magnets. Probably a shitty analogy, but he wasn’t getting any closer using la sangre.

 

Pulling on the Kugeki was strange to him. It came from nowhere, but responded to his desires all the same. It was no wonder Reizei was so dangerous. For Kugeki to function, even in the realm of a different God...he resolved to be careful with it. Using it seemed to mellow him out, but not in an entirely pleasant way. Not for others. Grimmjow compared him to Ulquiorra, and that stuck with him. 

 

Instead of trying to aim for a place in the sky that didn’t exist, Ichigo jumped directly below it, into the heart of the ruins of Seireitei. If Zangetsu had known it wasn’t simply Soul Society that held a concentration of Kugeki, but the sky above it, he might have woken faster.

 

**_“At least you woke up at all,”_ ** Zangetsu griped.

 

Ichigo’s lips twitched into a smile. “I’m not blaming you, I got some sleep out of it. That was the best sleep I had in years.”

 

**_“No shit, King, the_ ** **dead** **_usually sleep pretty damn well.”_ **

 

Ichigo rolled his eyes. “So dramatic.”

 

**_“Where do you think you get your flair?”_ **

 

It was a solid point, his hollow was more creative than him.

 

**_“You think too much.”_ **

 

Also true.

 

**_“Ya ain’t supposed to agree.”_ **

 

Ichigo’s smile widened. “Want me to lie?”

 

**_“Just go get this over with. I don’t like mercy killing.”_ **

 

It wasn’t the morality but rather the boredom of it that Zangetsu hated. It wasn’t like he expected morals from a hollow, but it was still odd to him that he felt so little about it.

 

_ “You aren’t bereft of pity, or empathy, Ichigo.” _

 

“Sometimes it feels like it.”

 

_ “You have a higher threshold than most, it doesn’t mean you can’t feel.” _

 

Ichigo wasn’t sure if he was reassured, but he saw no reason to procrastinate further. Closing his eyes, he focused on the gap in his senses. Sensing the kugeki was always strange. He knew it was there, in the same way he knew if he looked, he could see his own hand. Even if it was numb, he could expect it to be there. It was a slippery feeling, to sense the things that weren’t there.

 

He let the kugeki swallow him, stepping from the ripple in reality into the sky. He was miles above the surface, yet there was no wind. Time felt still, silent and thick as a tomb. 

 

He sensed the shades, but he didn't see them, not until he took a step forward. Parts of his vision distorted, as if something was obstructing his view. He walked in a circle, and his brain filled in the gaps with shapes. His eyes widened, realizing how many there were. This wasn’t a handful like with Mictlan's shades, this was a group, he wasn’t even certain how many. He’d wondered why Reizei hadn’t had conduits, but that was flat wrong; the shinigami had taken  _ many _ . 

 

They stood in a loose cluster, statues outside of time. He sensed nothing from these shades, their souls were stagnated to the point they barely existed at all. 

 

It was eerie, even with all that he’d seen.

 

He reached for Zangetsu, drawing the sword from his back. Power arched along the edge of his sword, bolstered by la sangre and das licht. His power flickered in waves of black and white, the Gods always eager to stretch their limits, even to the point of pressuring his mind, his instincts. He didn’t like it, but it made sense to Ichigo that they would, it was a constant push and pull of power.

 

Loosing a getsuga tensho, his attack split the air in a chaotic vortex of clashing energy, grinding those souls to reishi between opposing powers. It was easy, enough so that as his power faded and returned to him, he felt no gratification. Killing a thing that was already dead never felt good, but he thought he might feel  _ something _ .

 

He drew on the kugeki to leave that place, and was stopped short by the sudden oppressive energy in the air. It cut through the stagnation like a hot blade. Ichigo turned, recognizing the feeling, but it went so much deeper than he’d ever realized.

 

Reishi split the air and solidified into something he never truly thought he’d see again. Towering skeletons with proportions not quite human grasped the edges of towering obsidian doors, far larger than the doors he remembered seeing in the past, yet it had been so long ago, his memory might have betrayed him.

 

“The gates of Hell…” 

 

He hadn’t forgotten about Hell, but so much had happened, he hadn’t ever stopped to consider the role it might play. 

 

The gates were seemingly pulled open by those skeletal hands, but the confines were dark, not bright like he remembered. The sucking drag of a vacuum tugged at the ends of his shihakusho, creating a disturbing breeze in the Kugeki around him. 

 

Things didn’t happen as before at all. A skeletal hand emerged from the dark. It wrapped around the threshold and pulled itself into the light. The skeleton was massive, crouching to pass through the doorway. Its bones were pitch black, limbs unnaturally long and distorted; inhuman. 

 

It dropped its jaw and seemed to inhale, drawing in something Ichigo couldn’t see, but sensed was there, much in the way of das Licht or the Kugeki before he became a host. This skeleton didn’t feel like reishi, it felt like the Gods, but there was another presence there, something more like Mictlan, Reizei, or Adaliz. 

 

The skeleton extended a hand to Ichigo, and he took a wary step back, hand still tight around Zangetsu’s hilt. It uncurled its fingers to him, its skeletal grin looking oddly amused. It spoke in a deathly rattle, the rasp of a dying breath. “Kurosaki Ichigo.”

 

Ichigo’s grip on Zangetsu tightened, eyes narrowing. “You know of me?”

 

“I _know_ _you_ ,” the skeleton corrected.

 

A chill raced up Ichigo’s spine. He could handle nightmares, but this certainty in its voice unsettled him. “How?”

 

The skeleton’s jaw dropped, hissing laughter carried that on the manufactured breeze. “We have met before.”

 

“We haven’t,” Ichigo insisted. “I’d remember.” There was no way he’d forget a presence like this. If he had to give it a name, he’d say it felt like death.

 

“Mortals see the lie, a God sees the truth.” Ichigo cocked his head, wondering if it meant only a host could see it. If it existed on a plane above what others could perceive, like Alteza, that would explain why no one knew of its existence. 

 

It let out a sound almost like a sigh. “A shame your soul is beyond my reach.”

 

Ichigo had a feeling it didn’t mean the fact that he was dead, but a host. He’d seen the way the Gods hoarded and eroded souls first hand, it was possibly the only escape from death he’d ever seen, and it was something to envy. Ichigo demanded. “What do you want from me?”

 

It ignored him, or it seemed to, its head tilting a fraction to look behind him. “The sins in these souls were heavy, and until now, beyond my reach. Thank you, godling.” 

 

Ichigo looked from the skeleton’s hand, to its empty sockets, not buying for an instant that it was here to merely thank him. He was missing something. He asked, “Who are you?”

 

It’s expression couldn’t change, but Ichigo got the distinct feeling of amusement as it breathed a name with a weight he’d never heard it spoken with before. “ _ Shinigami _ .”

 

Dread settled in his stomach, looking to the skeleton’s outstretched hand again. Ichigo felt he'd made some kind of mistake. 

 

“Yoroshiku onegaishimasu...Kurosaki Ichigo.”

 

It began to laugh, a quiet, distant sound that seemed to crawl from the back of his mind. From its fingertips outward it was blown away like ashes, drawn back into Hell. 

 

The doors slammed shut, reishi scattered away from the force of it. The seals on the skeletons on the doors burned away, the Khakkhara impaling them crumbling in on themselves like broken sandcastles, until those too were scattered on the wind. The doors vanished in a heap of ash, disappearing without a trace. 

 

Ichigo watched the last of the ashes swirl out of existence, turning a circle, sensing nothing but the Kugeki. Whatever Hell was, it didn't exist in the same reality, it was gone. “ _ Fuck _ .”

 

He’d done something, probably something very bad, and he wasn’t even sure what it was.

 

Zangetsu’s voice was deeply sarcastic.  **_“Good job, King.”_ **

 

“We don’t even know what it is I actually did yet.”

 

**_“Looks a lot like you freed the_ ** **actual** **_shinigami.”_ **

 

He could argue, but they knew that was probably the case. “Well...shit.” It was just one problem after another, he should just retire before he fucked up anything else.

 

\--- xxx ---

 

“You have not unlocked this area yet” Was the mantra of Zenith. Now that Kurosaki got all the powers, he can go collect all the little bonuses and end game content

 

Yoroshiku onegaishimasu: I look forward to working with you; usually said at the beginning of a working relationship

Tsumi: Sin

Khakkhara: Monk staff

Ikiryō: Living spirit

 

You guys kept asking for Hell well here it is, here’s Hell. If you read Zenith, you know me, expect an odd combination of canon and non-canon.

 

**Current Espada Ranking**

King Strawberry

Fraccion: Grimmjow, Nelliel

 

0 - Harribel

1 - Ulquiorra

2 - Starrk & Lilynette

3 - Grimmjow

4 - Zommari

5 - Szayelaporro Granz

6 - Shawlong

7 - Cyan, Mila Rose, Apacci (Quimera Parca: Ayon)

8 - Yylfordt Granz

9 - Edrad Liones

10 - Pesche

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. F is for Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> I couldn't think of a fucking title, it seemed fitting. I hope you likes my first actual offshoot story o~o I wanna write some fun no pressure shenanigans. Bit of exposition and banter in the beginning, but I have an arc in mind, not just meandering nothings lol
> 
> Thanks to my beta reader, Ink and Blade!

 

 

\--- xxx ---

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

“You did  _ what _ ?!” Grimmjow stared at him in genuine disbelief.

 

**_“Ya think he’d be used to this by now.”_ **

 

Ichigo couldn’t even argue that, Zangetsu was right. He shrugged. “I may have  _ accidentally _ undone a seal, or seal _ s _ , on hell.”

 

“You unsealed  _ Hell _ ,” Grimmjow repeated. He let out a heavy breath and asked, “What the fuck does that even mean?”

 

“You know,” Ichigo admitted. “I don’t know.”

 

“Incredible,” Grimmjow mocked. “You don’t even know what genre of fucked we are.”

 

“Look,” Ichigo said, gesturing wider the more frustrated he became. “I killed the shades, and the gates of hell showed up and this thing that felt like a host shows up,”

 

“Wait, wait,  _ another _ host?” Grimmjow was watching him with wide eyes, understandably stressed.

 

Ichigo said slowly, “Yeeeesss.” Grimmjow didn’t say anything to that, so Ichigo kept talking. “It says it knows me, thanks me, and tells me he can’t fucking wait to work with me. Then all the seals disintegrated, and it all disappears into another fucking dimension.”

 

**_“Ya left out all the laughin’.”_ **

 

_ ‘The story doesn’t need it.’ _

 

**_‘Ya tell stories like koneko.”_ **

 

_ ‘Thanks,’  _ Ichigo answered wryly.

 

“That’s…” Grimmjow settled on a word, “ominous. So now what?”

 

“I don’t know, so we’re going to go find Hell.” His fraccion squinted at him, confused, and Ichigo explained, “I’ve already got a job escorting shinigami back to Soul Society, all I have to do is tail them for a bit and eventually they’ll run into someone rotten enough to involve Hell.”

 

“What’re you gonna do,” Grimmjow mocked. “ _ Ask it _ ?”

 

“Something to that effect.” If asking involved violence, then yes, he was going to ask away.

 

“Guess we’d better go pick up the runt,” Grimmjow said.

 

Unsurprisingly, the two didn’t get along. Ichigo was looking forward to working with Rukia again, but not her and Grimmjow together. Ichigo stressed. “No one else can know about this, not yet.”

 

“Ya don’t gotta ask me to cover your ass anymore Kurosaki, I get it.”

 

\--- xxx ---

 

**Grimmjow**

 

Sitting smack in the center of a crowd of shinigami was not how he wanted to spend his day. He didn’t like being gawked at, not when he had to keep his hands to himself and just take it. Kurosaki was only a couple of feet away, disgustingly used to the staring. 

 

The hybrid was leaning forward on his knees, rolling a bit of grass between his fingers, that look in his eyes like he was focused on something distant. Kurosaki’s voice was flat. “Relax, they’re harmless.”

 

Grimmjow started bouncing his knee, scowling at the closest shinigami. “Aren’t you some kind of demigod, why do we have to fucking wait?”

 

“Because I don’t want to be an asshole?” Kurosaki shot him a confused and chiding look. “Yes, if I wanted to, I could just kidnap her and we could be on our way, but I’m not going to do that.”

 

“Why the fuck not?” Grimmjow growled.

 

“You know why, stop pretending you don’t.”

 

Fucker was right, he did know, but he didn’t like it. He cast another look around, his eyes suspiciously higher than normal person height. “Where’s that spiky asshole?”

 

Kurosaki shot him a look. “Kenpachi? No.  _ No _ , and no again, we didn’t come here for fun.” He frowned at him and asked, “Getting tired of fighting me?”

 

Grimmjow snorted. “Don’t get yer panties in a bunch, if  _ you _ fight me for keeps I’ll be fucking dead.”

 

The hybrid sighed wistfully and muttered, “Don’t remind me.”

 

“Don’t be sucha girl,” Grimmjow said.

 

Kurosaki said, “Hi, Renji.” Grimmjow was confused until he turned around and saw the redhead a few feet behind him.

 

Renji smirked and said, “ _ Ladies _ . Waiting for Rukia?” 

 

“The fuck do you think?” Grimmjow snapped, standing to face the fukutaicho, itching for a fight. Kurosaki stood with him, his hand on his shoulder a silent reminder to chill out. The shinigami here knew well enough he wouldn’t do shit if Kurosaki was there, and in his opinion they took advantage of it.

 

Renji frowned at Grimmjow and his eyes slid back to Kurosaki. “She’s going to be another couple of hours at least. Kyoraku just talked to me, said maybe you’d want to keep busy while you wait, and he figures you can kill two birds with one stone.”

 

Kurosaki raised a brow. “Okay, I’m listening.”

 

Gesturing around them, Renji said, “I don’t need to tell you people are scared of you, and you’re about as sociable and approachable as a hornet.”

 

Frowning, Kurosaki said, “Keep the compliments coming.”

 

“So what if-hear me out- _ what if _ you help train some of the unseated officers?” Renji shrugged. “Might get them to be less afraid of you now that you’re less...y’know.”

 

Grimmjow was pretty sure he was going to say crazy. 

 

Kurosaki supplied dryly, “Violent.”

 

“Yeah…” Renji agreed. “Violent.” 

 

Grimmjow growled, “Well then what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

 

“Same, if you feel like doing it.” Renji said, “And if you promise not to break anyone.” His eyes slid to Kurosaki again, as if he was unsure if it was a good idea or not.

 

Kurosaki said, “I’ll be there, it’s fine.”

 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Grimmjow growled. 

 

Kurosaki looked at him, his expression easier to discern now that he’d spent nearly all of his time around him. The hybrid looked nearly sympathetic. “You do. The first time we were here you nearly broke someone’s arm.”

 

“He bumped into me,” Grimmjow argued.

 

“Still not a good reason,” Kurosaki said. He looked at Renji and asked, “Did Kyoraku say which squad?”

 

“Well, ya don’t have a problem with eleventh, they love you. Fifth is off the table.”

 

“Why?” Grimmjow interrupted.

 

Kurosaki looked at him and answered tonelessly. “That was Aizen’s squad.”

 

Oh. Probably in bad taste, especially since there were still rumors kicking around that Kurosaki actually  _ liked _ Aizen. Kurosaki’s expression was carefully blank, but he felt his unease, and a cocktail of emotions he couldn’t name.

 

Renji kept talking, likely sensing it too. “The best squads after that would probably be the thirteenth, third, seventh, or sixth.”

 

Kurosaki looked up in thought, than asked, “Which one likes me the least?”

 

Renji scratched his head, thoughtful. “Maybe...third?”

 

“Really?” Kurosaki seemed surprised, and Grimmjow just felt left out. 

 

“Gin has a surprising amount of loyalty from his squad, and when he got punished because of you, twice, I think they took it personally. If we weren’t pathetically short on captains, he might have been demoted or worse”

 

Kurosaki said wistfully, “You made a good captain in my time.” Renji floundered for words, a blush on his face. Sometimes Grimmjow forgot Kurosaki lived years with these people that none of them could remember. The feelings it dredged up were always bittersweet, with emphasis on the bitter; Grimmjow didn’t like it much.

 

When Renji wasn’t sure how to recover, Kurosaki had pity on him and pulled the conversation back. “I kept wondering what happened to Gin. If they blame me I suppose I can’t make it any worse.”

 

“Third then?” Renji asked.

 

“Sure,” Kurosaki answered. He must have sensed Grimmjow’s confused scowl, because while they walked, Kurosaki fell back from Renji and explained, “Gin gave me Aizen’s Hogyoku a while back, and he never did oppose me as much as he should have. I guess Yama-jii noticed.”

 

Grimmjow frowned. “He was on your side?”

 

“I don’t think so, but he didn’t get in my way either, not until they tried to seal me. He read me better than most, he knew exactly how to get under my skin.”

 

That was strange, but Grimmjow didn’t question it, and he couldn’t without knowing more about this captain. Instead, he did his best to ignore the fearful and angry glares thrown their way. Ungrateful little shits.

 

They got to a section that didn’t seem any different from the rest of the camp, but apparently it counted as the third division. Gin was just as privy to Kurosaki’s soul as the rest of them, he stood there waiting, that stupid grin on his face. He smiled at Grimmjow first. “Maa, it’s been awhile, arrancar.”

 

“I’ve got a name,” Grimmjow growled.

 

Gin ignored that and looked to Kurosaki, his hands folded in his sleeves. “What brings you to a humble division of the Gotei 13?” Grimmjow wasn’t sure, but it sounded a bit like he was deriding his own squad.

 

Renji explained what Kyoraku had in mind and Gin’s smile never faded. “I only have one condition.” Kurosaki waited, and Gin said, “I want to spar with you first.”

 

Kurosaki had little issue with that, shrugging. “Whatever you want, Gin.”

 

It was a few boring minutes of his fukutaicho gathering what members weren’t out and about to go off outside of their little encampment to spar. Gin insisted on everyone staying very, very far back, and Kurosaki seemed to understand why. The members hanging around looked like they couldn’t stand him, or Kurosaki, and that was fine, but their demeanor was very different from the squads they’d dropped in on before. They were quiet, disciplined, and after being around other squads, it was a noticeable difference. 

 

Gin and Kurosaki stood just about a hundred feet apart from each other, which seemed kind of far to spar. Without any perceptible warning, Gin spoke and released his sword, drawing it with a sharp glow of reiatsu. Grimmjow had no idea what it could do, but from the look on Kurosaki’s face, he had a feeling the hybrid did. 

 

In a flash of light Grimmjow could barely track, Gin’s sword had covered a huge distance, and Kurosaki hadn’t moved except to block with one raised arm. 

 

Gin withdrew his sword with a sigh, and it was fast enough that Grimmjow couldn’t track it at all. The taicho called over to Kurosaki, his tone full of reproach. “At least pretend to try, Kurosaki-san.”

 

“I wanted to gage your speed,” Kurosaki lowered his arm and answered, a small smile noticeable on his face, even at that distance. “You’re still fast.”

 

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Kurosaki-san.” 

 

Gin disappeared into shunpo that was blindingly fast, Grimmjow couldn’t help but grind his teeth at that. Watching the pair clash, the taicho’s speed was enough to rival his resurreccion. Still not enough to challenge Kurosaki, but they all knew that walking into this.

 

Kurosaki didn’t need his zanpakuto for this, not against a captain, and especially not one in shikai, but that didn’t seem to be why Gin had asked. Gin’s sword was fast, as was he, but he couldn’t cut Kurosaki, the latter only blocked out of respect. Gin too seemed to not be taking this seriously yet, not if he wouldn’t use bankai, and that only left Grimmjow and his entire squad confused as to why.

  
  


\--- xxx ---

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

Gin was just as fast as he remembered, even in shikai, and the feeling he got from his sword when his blade touched his wrist was...confusing. The longer they fought, the more it became clear to him that Gin had no idea he could read his heart in his sword, because despite how hard it was to read him on the outside, his heart was in turmoil. Ichigo wasn’t so sure it was any of his business.

 

Ichigo grabbed his sword before he could reach his throat and said, “Why won’t you show me your bankai?” It wasn’t even a contest outside of bankai, and they both knew that.

 

He felt regret and anger; so much anger. Gin retracted his sword and said, “It was meant for him.” Given the nature of his bankai, and the depth of his hatred for the man, Ichigo could only assume what Gin meant. Ichigo thought he might refuse by the virtue of it, but he went into bankai anyway. “Bankai. Korose, Kamishini no Yari.” His sword brightened with an influx of reishi, and this time when he attacked, it was fast,  _ very _ fast.

 

The distance his sword could stretch didn’t matter, they both knew that, and he couldn’t attack at a distance without killing a bystander, so Gin’s attacks were direct and efficient, hardly bothering with a swing at all. It was almost nostalgic to be fighting him again. The last time he’d lost miserably.

 

Now that he was in bankai, Gin’s entire demeanor changed. Gin couldn’t hurt him, he just wasn’t strong enough, but to feel his intent to kill burn so strongly in his attacks only raised questions. He knew the taicho’s squad noticed, but no one was going to stop them.

 

Ichigo moved in close, giving Gin more of an advantage and started to actually fight back. He knocked Gin’s sword out of the way with his hand and was surprised to sense both doubt and fear. He twitched out of the way of his sword, punching and kicking at a speed he hoped Gin could dodge, and thankfully, it wasn’t too fast for the taicho.

 

Ichigo was starting to get tired of being out of the loop, uncertain what it was that was triggering this reaction, but he wanted to know. Ichigo caught Gin’s sword mid jab, twisting his arm around behind his back with his sword angled towards the ground. 

 

Gin didn’t fight his hold, calmly aware he wasn’t going anywhere until Ichigo let him. Ichigo asked, “Why are you so angry?” They were far enough away that their conversation would stay private, so Ichigo could only hope Gin would talk. 

 

The taicho glanced back over his shoulder at him, his outward appearance no different than usual. “Creepy, Kurosaki-san. Not even Aizen could read me like that.”

 

Ichigo let go of his sword and took a step back. “I’m cheating. Your Zanpakuto is a part of your soul, I can sense that when I touch your sword.”

  
Gin chuckled. “Now that doesn’t seem fair.”

 

Ichigo raised a brow. “You can sense my soul whenever you like, seems fair enough.” Ichigo dropped his head in thought, and he noticed Gin tense, and he realized the taicho really was afraid of him. “Are you going to answer, or keep trying to kill me?”

 

Gin smirked, but there was no humor in it. He held up his hands in defeat, but he still held his sword tight enough that his guard wasn’t down. “You’ve caught me, Kurosaki-san. I can’t manage it, but I suppose I thought I might try.”

 

Ichigo spent a lot of his time with people trying to kill him, he wasn’t offended, but he wanted to know the reason. “Why?”

 

“Wonderin’ if I haven’t made a mistake. Don’t get me wrong, kid, you seem alright, but you are just a kid, and I see a lot of him in you.”

 

Aizen. Ichigo realized he should have expected that, especially after what the taicho said to him when Soul Society attempted to seal him. It didn’t hit him as hard as it likely should have, especially with the Kugeki within arms reach mellowing him out. “I see.”

 

“It took Aizen years and years to get to where you were when you were a teen, I don’t think he anticipated just how strong you would become.” 

 

Ichigo couldn’t say he disagreed about power, but it didn’t feel entirely accurate. He argued, “I don’t use people.”

 

“Just because ya aren’t as good at it as he was, don’t mean ya aren’t doin’ it, kid.”

 

Ichigo frowned, and he wasn’t sure how to argue that. 

 

Gin said, “Ya know, I was there.” Ichigo’s brows fell, unsure what he meant. “I knew what Aizen was going to do with that hollow, White.”

 

Ichigo felt his blood run cold, his reaction strong enough that Gin shifted, defensive. Renji must have felt it too, because he heard him shout his name, but since he didn’t interfere, he could only assume Grimmjow held him back. Ichigo swallowed and closed his eyes for a long moment, flattening his knee-jerk propensity towards violence. 

 

**_“Easy, King. The past is past.”_ **

 

His hollow was right, but he couldn’t stop the searing path of ‘what ifs’ from razing a trail through his memories. Ichigo was glad that no one could really see or feel the Kugeki. Drawing on it for help went by unnoticed by even the sharpest instincts. Calm wrapped around his emotions, dampening them like a drug. That wasn’t good to rely on, he knew he needed to feel, but could he make exceptions?

 

**_“Slippery slope, King.”_ **

 

Ichigo knew that, but it was so easy to take shortcuts. He opened his eyes, emotions steady, and said, “Doesn’t change anything.”

 

“Doesn’t it?”

 

Ichigo asked, “So what is it? Regret that you didn’t interfere and stop me from existing at all?”

 

Gin chuckled. “Maybe, kid. Maybe.”

 

Ichigo couldn’t blame him, his regrets had rewritten just about everything, he couldn’t judge the taicho without making himself a massive hypocrite.

 

“Y’know...” Gin said. He looked from his sword, to Ichigo. “I was really tryin’ ta kill ya, and it barely ruffled your feathers. Not sure if that’s scary, or sad.”

 

Ichigo scoffed. “What’s wrong with both? I’m used to people trying to kill me. If I took it personally there’d be no one left.” He gave Gin a once over, wishing he knew what he was feeling, but he knew what Gin meant by unfair. Nearly godlike power coupled with the knowledge of his heart. Dangerous.

 

Careful not to move too quickly, Ichigo reached for Zangetsu, drawing it to stab it into the ground. Drawing the trench knife, he did the same, tossing it into the ground. “I’m trying, I am. I can’t help how much power I have...but  _ I’m trying _ , Gin.”

 

Gin watched him warily, but didn’t move, answering, “Doesn’t seem fair.”

 

It sounded like the taicho was talking generally. “I don’t think I’m over it,” Ichigo admitted. He glanced over at Grimmjow, pointedly and said, “Look, you probably know how it is, I’m used to fighting arrancar. They put their pride and their dignity into damn near every fight, there’s no such thing as sparring. If they can still stand by the end of it, you haven’t won. So what do you want from me? You can’t kill me, I’m not going to let you, and your squad hates me. What do we do about that?”

 

Gin laughed again, and this time it sounded more genuine. “You’re a strange kid, Kurosaki-san, but I can’t say I don’t like you.” He widened his stance, shifting to be on the offensive. Ichigo wasn’t sure if he’d ever actually heard the taicho be serious in his life, Gin’s tone was both serious and teasing. “Let’s see if I can’t at least nick your shihakusho. 

 

\--- xxx ---

 

**Grimmjow**

 

When it became clear the redhead wasn’t going to interfere, Grimmjow loosened his grip in his shoulder and returned his hands to his pockets. Renji asked, “How did you know Ichigo wouldn’t hurt him?”

 

“I didn’t,” Grimmjow answered.

 

“What?!”

 

Grimmjow scowled at the redhead. “Aren’t ya supposed to be friends? Have some faith in him.”

 

Shooting him a sidelong glance, Renji said, “That felt a hell of a lot like he wanted to kill something. Mainly, Gin.”

 

The fukutaicho was wondering if he’d overreacted, and that was fine. Grimmjow leaned back against the tree and tried not to growl. He sensed a few of the officers around him staring, listening, and it was irritating, but he didn’t censor his answer because of it. “He’s backed down from worse. Kurosaki is violent, he likes to fight, but he doesn’t like to indulge his impulses.”

 

A shinigami Grimmjow couldn’t see said, “What’s the difference?”

 

Real irritation surged in Grimmjow’s veins, leaning forward to face them, but Renji stepped between them with a warning, pleading look. Goddammit. “ _ What’s the difference… _ ” Grimmjow mocked. He ran his hand through his hair and gestured at the pair. “If he was acting on his impulses, your captain would be dead.”

 

Grimmjow was met with more than skepticism, he was met with hatred and denial. Grimmjow ground his teeth and snarled, “You think he disarmed himself as an insult, don’t you? Fucking  _ look _ , can’t you see it?”

 

Their eyes flickered back to the fight, and Grimmjow dared them to deny reality. Kurosaki was fighting as close to keeps as he could manage, he had more respect for the Gotei 13 than Grimmjow thought he should have. Kurosaki was worried he’d slip, his own paranoia over saving these people was only making things worse. That sparked a thought. Grimmjow said, “Stick around and watch him fight  _ me _ .”

 

“Aren’t you his fukutaicho?” A blonde shinigami asked.

 

Grimmjow noted the armband, realizing this was Gin’s fukutaicho. Quiet fucker, he made a note to watch out for him. He answered, “Somethin’ like that. He looks like an arrancar, you think he’s some kinda monster, I get it, but he ain’t what you think. He treats you like shinigami.”

 

The blonde said, “We’re not fragile.”

 

“I’m sayin’ yer different,” Grimmjow snapped. Some of these shinigami were strong, and some were downright insane, but they weren’t arrancar. Shinigami could be brutal, but they lacked the savage instincts they considered to be beneath them.

 

Grimmjow watched Kurosaki’s hands flex with the desire to rend, but he didn’t indulge that desire. Idiots, all of them, they couldn’t see what was right in front of their faces.

 

Renji ventured, “Grimmjow?”

 

Grimmjow gave up on the rest and dropped his voice so only Renji was privy to what he said. “ _ You _ see it, don’t you?”

 

Renji asked, “See what?”

 

Grimmjow stifled a sigh of frustration. “How careful he is. You of all people should understand. You can  _ feel _ how strong he is, now  _ look _ , dumbass.” He felt Renji’s eyes move away, focusing on Kurosaki. 

 

Gin was fast, but Kurosaki moved like lightning, casually deflecting his blows to hit him with what might have been a love tap. “Can you imagine holding back that much?”

 

Raising his voice, Grimmjow continued, “You should all be fucking flattered he gives enough of a shit to hold back and still show you some respect. He beat the shit out of your best captains when he was  _ sixteen _ .” Grimmjow snarled, 

 

Renji shot him a look, “You could  _ try _ not to be so confrontational.”

 

Grimmjow watched Kurosaki fight and growled, “I hate this place.” Once, the gap between him and Kurosaki had enraged him, but he’d accepted it. There were other, more realistic goals. He could try, but beating himself up over not being able to match a  _ God _ was stupid. He saw how much of a cost it brought down on Kurosaki, he didn’t want that. 

 

Gin’s fight only lasted as long as Kurosaki managed to let him keep his sword. Ichigo disarmed him, wincing. He hadn’t meant to do that, that was clear, but he hadn’t broken Gin’s Zanpakuto. The captain smirked, retrieving his sword and called over to the hybrid. “Maaa, I wish I’d seen you before your prime, Kurosaki-san.”

 

“You beat me once.  _ Badly _ ,” Kurosaki admitted. 

 

“Did I?”

 

Kurosaki nodded, adding redundantly. “I got better.” No shit.

 

The hybrid retrieved his swords, and the two walked back over, most of the tension between them dissolved, which was actually rather impressive. 

 

The squad eyed Kurosaki, and Gin’s fukutaicho spoke up before anyone else could talk. “I’d like to see Kurosaki-san fight the arrancar.”

 

Kurosaki corrected absently. “Grimmjow.” His brows furrowed when he registered the request. “Why?”

 

The fukutaicho’s brows drew together and he looked at Gin for permission. Gin shrugged and said, “It’s up to Kurosaki-san, I won’t stop ‘im.”

 

A few more shinigami stepped forward, voicing their interest, and Kurosaki looked to Grimmjow in confusion, asking, “The fuck did you tell them?”

 

Grimmjow owned up to it, baring his teeth. “That they don’t know the first thing about you.”

 

Kurosaki looked surprised, then concerned, his eyes flicking over to Renji. “I’m not sure if-”

 

“Trust me,” Grimmjow growled. Those words caught Kurosaki off guard, watching Grimmjow with those burning white irises. His expression betrayed very little, but Grimmjow knew him better than he should, and even without that connection to his soul, he could see that he’d won.

 

Kurosaki finally blinked, grimacing and said, “Fine...okay.” He gestured at the field, just about untouched after his short spar with Gin. A tree was leveled, but it was about the same. “Go. Far,  _ far _ out.”

 

They walked out, further than he had with Gin. The wind was gentle, tugging the grass in rippling waves. It was real fuckin’ peaceful, Grimmjow couldn’t wait to ruin it. 

 

Grimmjow faced Kurosaki like he had just about every day for years. It was still a relatively short amount of time, but long enough for it to be routine and feel familiar. These fights never ended well for him, not from an objective standpoint, but fuck if it didn’t feel good to push his limits. 

 

The only thing new about this scenario was that they had an audience, and he’d have to actually hold back for once.

 

Kurosaki eyed their audience warily, and Grimmjow snapped, “What’re you lookin’ at them for, you’re fighting  _ me _ .”

 

Kurosaki’s eyes flicked back to Grimmjow, narrowed thoughtfully. The hybrid knew Grimmjow was doing this for a reason, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Fine, let him wonder. 

 

Kurosaki reached for the knife at his waist and laid down some rules. “No cero’s, no desgarron. Understand?”

 

Grimmjow curled his lips back from his teeth and hissed, “Fine, whatever.” He could work with that.

 

He drew Pantera, angling his sword before him and rested his fingers on the blade. He slashed along the edge and snarled, “Grind, Pantera!” He skipped directly into his segunda etapa, reiatsu surging around him in a vicious wave only to sink back into his skin like armor. He crouched, dark claws digging into loamy earth.

 

There was no sand, no moon, and it was strange to be facing Kurosaki in the light of day, but not so strange that he didn’t feel a savage smile pull at his lips. 

 

Kurosaki idly twirled his sword in his hand, and did him the courtesy of just about forgetting everything around him. He saw the shift in Kurosaki’s shoulders, the loosening of his spine, and the savage widening of his eyes. Kurosaki might not understand his request, but he trusted him. Once he would have called him a fool for that, but now Grimmjow understood the benefits of trust. 

 

Kurosaki wasn’t going to censor this fight, and that was all Grimmjow could have asked for.

 

Grimmjow moved first, claws out, and crossed the distance in a heartbeat, slashing at Kurosaki’s throat. His claws passed through Kurosaki’s after image, but that wasn’t a shock. Grimmjow spun middair, kicking where he hoped Kurosaki would be. His shin connected with Kurosaki’s arm, the force behind it splitting the ground beneath him. Grimmjow let out a bark of triumphant laughter, his tail lashing around the hybrid’s throat.

 

Kurosaki let him, getting a grip on his tail and flinging him into the ground hard enough for it to crater. Grimmjow was ready for it, he tensed his muscles before he hit the ground so he didn’t get the air knocked out of him like Kurosaki hoped. Grimmjow was up on his feet before Kurosaki could impale him with his claws, swiping at his face. 

 

To Grimmjow’s surprise, Kurosaki didn’t duck, he twisted his head and used his horns as a defense, stopping Grimmjow’s hand short on the edge. It looked like he was finally getting used to having them, and it made it far more interesting. 

 

Kurosaki disappeared, and Grimmjow flung his arm out where he hoped he would be, hoping to hit him with a garra. He turned in time to see that he had, and Kurosaki rewarded that by not stabbing him in the shoulder. 

 

The hybrid’s Zanpakuto cut along his ribs, but that wasn’t the attack Grimmjow was worried about. Kurosaki jerked his head to the side, the sharp edge of a horn cutting into Grimmjow’s chest before he could get completely out of the way. Well that fucking hurt.

 

Kurosaki spun and threw his sword at him, the bastard. Grimmjow twisted out of the way, but his blade still cut deep into his shoulder. The hybrid raised a hand and called his sword back to his palm, the blade spiraling back to him fast enough to cut Grimmjow’s lower leg on the way.

 

Grimmjow snarled and flung his arm out, throwing four garras in his direction. Kurosaki threw his arm out, a wave of reiatsu destroying them before they could make contact. Kurosaki tilted his head and chided, “You know those will fuck up the whole mountain if they hit.”

 

Grimmjow argued, “Didn’t say I couldn’t use em’.”

 

The hybrid shrugged a shoulder. “To be honest, I forgot about them.”

 

To be fair, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of hitting the hybrid with them so Grimmjow had stopped trying, but that didn’t mean that wasn’t annoying. “Fuck you too,” Grimmjow snarled, kicking off the ground into as fast of an assault as he could manage. He knew how Kurosaki fought, it wasn’t too difficult to predict him, and his instincts unwittingly used his soul as a benchmark; the hybrid couldn’t hide or surprise him anymore. 

 

Each attack Kurosaki struck or blocked sent a wave of power to disturb the ground at their feet. It was a bit different to fight on solid ground, hell, it was easier, and Grimmjow found he was faster.

 

He surprised Kurosaki with a bite to his forearm, and Kurosaki showed just how much he liked that by hammering him into the ground with the same arm. That winded him, but Kurosaki didn’t let him catch his breath. Grimmjow snarled when he felt Kurosaki’s claws around his throat. No, fuck that. 

 

Grimmjow reached around to his side, drawing it away with his own blood. Grimmjow gathered power in his palm, charging a gran rey cero.

 

Kurosaki looked both annoyed and amused. “Going to hurt you more than it hurts me.”

 

Grimmjow just laughed, and fired it directly into Kurosaki’s face.

  
  


\--- xxx ---

 

**Renji**

 

He’d fought hollows for years, he thought he knew what to expect from a spar between Ichigo and an arrancar, but he was wrong. It was blindingly fast, and violent enough that he wasn’t sure he could tell if it was sparring or not, the two looked like they couldn’t wait to kill each other.

 

Watching Ichigo fight Gin was like a demonstration in skill, but watching Ichigo fight Grimmjow wasn’t anything like he expected. He would have thought they were actually trying to kill either other if not for the laughter and the flash of a smile. 

 

Ichigo had an overwhelming advantage of speed and power over Grimmjow, but the arrancar didn’t seem to care. Ichigo’s sword dug into Grimmjow’s chest, splattering his blood on the ground. They didn’t stop, Grimmjow kept going, ignoring his injuries as if this weren’t just sparring.

 

The blue cero Grimmjow gathered in his palm surprised Renji, it was massively powerful, the reishi in the air was displaced from its mere existence. He took a sharp step back, but it seemed Ichigo was prepared for it. Before Grimmjow could use it, a sphere of dark encompassed them both, and when it faded away, Ichigo looked ruffled but untouched, and Grimmjow was a bloody mess. 

 

Ichigo straightened, still holding him by the throat, and when he dropped the arrancar he staggered, then fell to a crouch. Ichigo said, “What did I say about cero?”

 

“Since when do I fucking do what you say?” Grimmjow countered. He spat out a mouthful of blood and complained, “Ya didn’t have to guard me from it.”

 

Ichigo scoffed, “Some of it. If I thought you could take all of it and keep going, well.”

 

Renji thought they were done until Ichigo asked, “You good?”

 

Grimmjow coughed up blood, smearing it over his forearm, then chuckled. “What do you think?” 

 

The arrancar moved, faster than Renji thought he had any business moving, especially with injuries like that. His attacks on Ichigo were opportunistic and brutal, if he was attacking anyone but the hybrid, they would be mincemeat. Renji knew the arrancar was strong, but maybe seeing him next to the hybrid so often had skewed his perspective. Grimmjow was  _ very _ strong.

 

He understood now what Grimmjow said when he told them Ichigo was holding back. There was less care in the way Ichigo moved now, he wasn’t afraid he was going to kill Grimmjow when they fought. Renji realized both of them were reacting out of habit, then attempting to work around those habits. They fought each other often enough that this was an old, familiar dance, and from the smiles on their faces, an enjoyable one. Grimmjow was powerful, and if they did this all the time, he was only going to get stronger. 

 

Despite the attacks Grimmjow landed, none of them hurt Ichigo, and Renji noticed the hybrid was rewarding clever or skillful moves, and punishing bad ones. His eyes widened when he realized they weren’t sparring or fighting, this was  _ playing _ . Seven hells, this was just a painful and bloody game of tag.

 

Gin stepped up beside him, hands in his sleeves and sighed. “I knew he was going easy on me, but it’s a bit embarrassing, ain’t it? Now I see why Blue wanted us to see this.” Renji tore his eyes away to look at him when Gin chuckled. “He might be a scary bastard, but it’s hard to hate someone having so much fun. Don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile before.”

 

Renji looked back and realized Gin was right. Grimmjow might have been on the brink of spitting out some teeth, but they were both having fun, and he didn’t think anyone here had ever seen that. Renji finally understood the point of it. 

 

Grimmjow didn’t want them to see some godlike all powerful monster, he wanted them to see the person behind all that. Ironic that the thing about Ichigo that scared people the most was also the thing that was undoing all that fear.

 

If he didn’t think too hard about how sad that was, it was an impressive fight. He’d seen the ugly side of Ichigo’s power, and the skillful side when he fought Kenpachi or anyone else, but he’d never seen him open up enough to enjoy himself. If this is what he was normally like, Renji could see why Grimmjow was so angry at them all. 

 

Renji couldn’t blame the hybrid for being so distant, he would be too if he had to face the people that shared parts of his soul. As it was, Renji could feel Ichigo’s elation, this feeling dominated all the rest of his usual anxieties, and now that he knew the cause, it explained what the fuck Ichigo was up to when Renji had felt this in the past.

 

What was someone like Ichigo supposed to do for fun anyways? Watching the hybrid smother a cero with nothing but his bare hand and an ecstatic laugh, Renji realized it fit. It was a game, one that Grimmjow benefited from. The arrancar tried his damndest to kill him, and Ichigo foiled his attempts with as little wasted energy as possible. His eyes widened. “Oh, I get it. Restraint.”

 

Gin laughed. “Took you long enough to notice.”

 

Renji was startled by Rukia's voice behind him. “What's this about restraint?” He looked back and realized the crowd of onlookers had grown to extend to more than one division. With all the damage the pair was causing, Renji half expected Kyoraku to show up and break it up. Then again, Kyoraku was privy to everything Ichigo felt, and ‘joy’ was a pretty good indicator that nothing was wrong. 

 

Renji folded his arms and turned back to watch. “I didn't notice Ichigo was playing this game with rules.”

 

Rukia watched for a moment, then questioned, “Rules?”

 

Gin said, “He was holdin’ back a lot more with me. He’s testing his strength against Blue here. First time he grabbed Grimmjow’s arm, his armor cracked. Second time it didn’t.” For someone with as much strength as Ichigo, a difference that minute and subtle would be incredibly difficult to manage.

 

If this is how Ichigo treated his closest friend, then they really should feel special. 

 

Gin called out to his squad. “I hope yer taking notes.”

 

They really should be. Grimmjow was above captain class and Ichigo was...Ichigo was something else.

 

Grimmjow was starting to get tired, and Ichigo hadn't even broken a sweat, a wide grin on his face when he dodged a slash only to appear directly behind the arrancar. Ichigo gave Grimmjow a shove instead of drawing blood, having a bit of mercy on him now that he was tiring out. 

 

Grimmjow didn't appreciate it, whirling with a swear. Ichigo took a step to the side and then was seemingly in three places at once. Grimmjow growled loudly, aggravated. “Asshole!”

 

Ichigo laughed and he was suddenly in five places, hair whipping around his face at the speed. His after image was eerily mid motion, the force of reiatsu no one could even sense displacing dust and reishi in his wake. 

 

Grimmjow turned a sharp circle, debating what to do. Rukia whined, “He's not even in bankai, how is he so fast?”

 

The hybrid was suddenly in seven places, and Grimmjow snarled, “Stop going easy on me!”

 

The duplicates all shrugged helplessly. “You're taking an awful long time to decide.” He split into nine. “I thought I'd make it easier. “

 

Kira questioned, “He's slowing down? Why?”

 

Gin said, “All part of the game.”

 

It seemed to be, Grimmjow reacted as if this was par the course. 

 

Ichigo’s smile turned a bit mischievous, his laughter echoing around Grimmjow, playful, but not mocking. Grimmjow threw his arms out, claws glowing with blue reiatsu, and slashed outwards at all of his afterimages at once. 

 

Ichigo’s image blurred and those blue swaths of solidified reiatsu were shattered. He chided, “What did I say about desgarron?” 

 

“Worth a try,” Grimmjow snarled. In a motion Renji didn’t quite follow, Grimmjow moved, and both disappeared in the buzz of sonido. They reappeared some distance away, then disappeared again. Renji flinched, startled when Ichigo threw Grimmjow bodily down into the ground. It split underneath the sheer force, dust and reishi settling around the pair in a cloud. 

 

The hybrid stood over him, hair wild from the sheer speed he’d been moving at, and smiled. “I win.”

 

Grimmjow coughed, struggling for air, and didn’t get up, but that didn’t stop him from talking shit. “I lost?” His tone was thinly veiled sarcasm. “That’s so weird. I thought I had a shot.” His transformation fell away, power once again condensed into a sword.

 

Ichigo sheathed his own sword and held out a hand down to him. Grimmjow clasped his forearm, and Ichigo practically lifted Grimmjow’s weight on his own. 

 

Grimmjow complained, “OW!” Ichigo set him on his feet, and the arrancar started to laugh, the sound strained. “You still hit like a fucking mountain, Kurosaki, I think ya got a couple ribs that time.”

 

Rukia, fearless, strode up to the pair now that they seemed like they were done. She called out, “I thought you were waiting for me. He's a wreck, now I'm waiting on  _ you _ .”

 

Grimmjow let out a bark of laughter. “Ha!  _ False _ , bean sprout.” He winced and lifted his hand to his side, but his grin didn't fade. 

 

Ichigo rolled his eyes, an expression that still seemed out of place on someone inherently intimidating. “Now that he knows I can fix him, he gets carried away.” 

 

“Carried away getting beat to hell?” She pinned Grimmjow with a pitying look. “You’re insane.”

 

Ichigo reached for Grimmjow's mask, and he must have been comfortable enough with Ichigo in his personal space, because he kept talking, his smile too wide. “Maybe let’s see you fight him next, shorty.”

 

Rukia grit her teeth and snapped, “You don’t hear me talking shit about your stupid hair!”

 

Grimmjow laughed. “Pff, that’s all you’ve got?”

 

“Can you shut the fuck up for  _ 2 seconds,” _ Ichigo growled. He got a grip on Grimmjow’s mask and yanked him closer, purposefully pulling him off balance, but the arrancar didn’t complain. Darkness swarmed over Grimmjow’s skin like ink, and when it dripped away, evaporating into reishi, he looked completely untouched. Grimmjow still looked tired, but physically, he was just about perfect.

 

Ichigo let Grimmjow go and huffed. “Fixed. Be free.”

 

Ichigo and Rukia started walking back to the others and Grimmjow followed, rolling his arm and stretching out apparently stiff muscles. 

 

Renji groaned, “How the fuck is that fair?”

 

Ichigo said, “It's complicated, I'll only risk doing it on a conduit.”

 

“So you could fix me?” Renji asked.

 

Rukia snickered, “No one can fix you, Renji.”

 

Renji blushed and muttered, “You know what I mean.”

 

Ichigo said, “In theory but I’m better with Alteza, I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t have to.”

 

The squads that had gathered to watch were breaking up, talking amongst themselves, but they were a far less rowdy crowd than the eleventh. A shinigami said something about cheating and Grimmjow must have had good hearing, because he didn’t let it slide. “Oy! What was that?! Yeah, I see you, motherfucker!” 

 

Ichigo raised his voice, impressively louder and more authoritative than Grimmjow. “Shut up, Grimmjow!” To Renji’s surprise, Grimmjow did. Ichigo turned on the shinigami. “And  _ you _ . Jealous? If you want, we can go a round. I can beat the shit out of you, break a few bones, Unohana can heal you.” His smile turned absolutely vicious, and the shinigami paled under the attention. “And we can do that every day.”

 

Rukia slapped Ichigo’s arm and snapped, “And you wonder why they don’t like you.” Ichigo’s expression fell into one of pure annoyance, dissolving any tension before it could take root. Renji realized Rukia was good at that.

 

Gin said carelessly. “Can ya not threaten my squad, Kurosaki-san?”

 

Ichigo’s tone was unapologetic. “Sorry.” 

 

Neither of them were serious, and for once, that was fine. Renji felt a shift in both Ichigo, and the squads watching him. They weren’t on edge because Ichigo wasn’t, they weren’t looking at him like he was going to kill something. Ichigo was relaxed for once, less anxious, and it was infectious. Seeing him act normal dragged him down in a good way. It was a reminder that he was mortal too. 

 

Even Grimmjow looked happy, but then, he’d gotten what he’d wanted. Renji was starting to see the parts of Ichigo that Rukia cared about. He hadn’t understood until recently why she had been so attached. The hybrid shut himself off from others, but he was trying.

 

Renji said, “Well, this was enlightening. Now that you have a new babysitter, I'm off.”

 

Rukia gave him a half salute and a smile that was so unburdened by worry it made his chest ache at the sheer nostalgia of it. “See ya soon, Renji.”

 

\--- xxx ---

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

Ichigo was in a good mood, a startlingly good mood, given he was still processing what he may or may not have done regarding hell. 

 

In spite of his good mood, once the three of them were safe in living world, Rukia turned directly to him and demanded, “What did you do?”

 

Ichigo feigned offense, and Grimmjow left him to flounder. Asshole. “What makes you say that?”

 

She folded her arms like it was obvious. “Guilt, dumbass. If guilt had a smell-”

 

“It does,” Grimmjow supplied. 

 

“Then, if I could smell guilt I wouldn't need to feel your soul to know you either  _ think _ you did something, or you did, you big idiot.” She raised a brow. “So which is it?”

 

Ichigo struggled with an answer and Grimmjow muttered, “The shrimp was gonna find out eventually.”

 

Ichigo shot Grimmjow a glare and folded his arms defensively. After a second suffering a deeply withering look, he started from the beginning of his short little story, and it ended with Rukia looking less worried than he thought she’d be.

 

“What?” Rukia said, “After all the shit that’s happened, what’s one more thing? You’ll handle it, I trust you.”

 

Grimmjow stared at her with just as much, if not more shock, than Ichigo. Ichigo protested. “What did I do to deserve that?” 

 

She smiled and gave him a chiding look. “Ichigo. When you put your mind to something, you do it. I still haven’t forgotten that you saved my life, and saved the world.”

 

Ichigo grimaced. “You don’t have to word it like that.”

 

“Seriously,” Grimmjow growled, “Don’t. What if he gets an ego?”

 

“Like you can talk,” Ichigo bit back.

 

Rukia said, “Well it’s too late for that, people are already calling you the Godeater.”

 

Ichigo squinted at her. “ _ What _ ? Who the fuck started that?”

 

Rukia blew out her cheeks and shrugged, looking as innocent as possible. “I have no idea, ask Renji.”

 

Grimmjow nodded sagely. “That ain’t bad.”

 

“What-don’t  _ agree _ with her!” Ichigo protested.

 

Rukia hastily changed the subject, slapping her fist down into her palm. “So what’s the plan?”

 

Ichigo growled, “And you blame me for my people problems.”

 

Rukia said, “You could smile more...not like that.”

 

Ichigo wouldn’t call his expression a smile either. “Okay,  _ the plan _ !”

 

“What plan?” Grimmjow asked.

 

“The plan I’m making up right now,” Ichigo snarled. “So we find the shinigami, and we spy on them for a bit.”

 

“A bit...” Rukia said. “An hour? A few minutes?”

 

“I don’t know!” Ichigo shrugged dramatically. “As long as my patience can take it.”

 

Grimmjow supplied, “30 minutes. Tops.”

 

“Thank you,  _ Grimmjow _ .” Ichigo said.

 

“So we spy on them,” Rukia trailed off, “and then what?”

 

“Then we say hi,” Ichigo said

 

Rukia frowned. “No, not ‘we’.  _ Me _ .”

 

“Agreed,” Grimmjow said. The arrancar shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned. “The less they see tall, dark and scary, the better.”

 

Ichigo tried not to whine, but he felt like he was whining. “I’m not  _ that _ scary.”

 

“You are.” Rukia and Grimmjow answered in unison, and it appeared to annoy them both.

 

Grimmjow added, “ _ I _ made people nervous.  _ You _ make people piss-their-pants scared.”

 

Ichigo grumbled, “I get it already.”

 

Rukia was still staring at Grimmjow. “Your hair is very exciting, I don’t blame them.”

 

Grimmjow shot her a confused look. “What?”

 

Rukia slapped her hands together. “Yoshi! Who’s our first victim?”

 

“Don’t call them that,” Ichigo growled, “You’ll scare them off, you weirdo.” If Rukia was this excited, then whatever she was up to in Soul Society must have been really, really dull. 

 

Ichigo jerked his thumb East. ”First guy is somewhere that way.” And she already left. 

 

Rukia looked back. “Well? Come on, we already wasted enough time with you two flirting.”

 

“ _ Flirting! _ ?” Grimmjow repeated, outraged. “We were waiting on  _ you _ !”

 

Rukia was brutal, Grimmjow couldn’t even deny it without sounding like he was overcompensating, and from the look on his face, he was aware of it. Ichigo caught up with Rukia rather than be left behind. He said, “When you explain Seireitei is literally gone, try not to augment it with a slideshow.” No response.  _ Fascinating _ .

 

Ichigo could practically feel the distaste radiating off of Grimmjow when he asked, “How many of these fuckers are there again?”

 

Ichigo closed his eyes, trying to pinpoint what his senses were telling him, and settled on as estimate. “A lot.”

 

“Fucking great,” Grimmjow snarled.

 

Rukia’s mood wasn’t dampened at all, it was kind of nice to have more than a snarling wildcat for company. 

 

So he unsealed hell….At the very least Ichigo could say he wasn’t going to be bored.

  
  
  


\--- xxx ---

 

Rukia has joined your party.

 

I’m literally incapable of writing short things, I’m so sorry. This chapter wasn’t even going to be this, and then I had too much fun, so I hope you enjoyed my silly shenanigans. 

 

**Current Espada Ranking**

King Strawberry

Fraccion: Grimmjow, Nelliel

 

0 - Harribel

1 - Ulquiorra

2 - Starrk & Lilynette

3 - Grimmjow

4 - Zommari

5 - Szayelaporro Granz

6 - Shawlong

7 - Cyan, Mila Rose, Apacci (Quimera Parca: Ayon)

8 - Yylfordt Granz

9 - Edrad Liones

10 - Pesche


	3. Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the tags fam, I changed them. Sorry for the huge wait, I hope this makes up for it ~

 

 

 

\--- xxx ---

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

The trio were perched on a rooftop right outside the blocky waves of downtown skyscrapers. Some business district with cracked pavement and old telephone poles, their wires bunched up like a rats nest.

 

The shinigami the trio were stalking had already konso'd three souls; of which Ichigo had watched very carefully. The souls had nowhere to go, and thus were trapped in transition, something he thought he might be able to manually force, but he didn’t want to accidentally destroy the soul, so Ichigo let them be. Grace was not his middle name.

 

After a couple of hours, the shinigami they were tailing finally ran into a hollow, and after watching this guy just walk around and talk for hours, Ichigo was grateful and ready for some excitement.

 

Although, Calling what they witnessed a ‘fight’ would have been generous.

 

The shinigami moved like fresh blood, not comfortable with a sword and wielding it more like a baseball bat than a weapon. Frankly, it was embarrassing, and from the faint blush dusting Rukia’s cheeks, she was angry enough about this shinigami’s performance to concur.

 

Grimmjow drawled, “I ain’t a  _ nice _ guy...”

 

Rukia snorted.

 

“...but watching this guy struggle makes me feel like some sort of sadist.”

 

Ichigo looked at him, arms folded from where he was leaning. “You’re not?” He looked back down over the edge of the building. “Oh.”

 

“The fuck, Kurosaki? If anyone’s a sadist, it’s you.”

 

Zangetsu absently offered up a correction.  **_‘Masochist.’_ **

 

_ ‘I didn’t ask your opinion.’ _

 

**_“Like that’s going to stop me.”_ **

 

Ichigo pretended to think about it. “You're right, you're just violent.” He watched the shinigami clumsily dodge a sideswipe and corrected, “I’m _ selectively _ sadistic.”

 

Weighing his answer, Grimmjow nodded and said, “That’s fair.”

 

“Shouldn’t we help him?” Rukia asked. She was standing on the edge of the building, too short for a view over the railing without a perch, something Grimmjow had spent the better part of the day mocking her for. Judging from her tone, she was just about done with the second hand cringe.

 

“Nah,” Ichigo said. “He won’t learn if he doesn’t struggle a little.” The shinigami got hit with a tail, skidding a hundred yards across a parking lot into a pole. The guy got up without too much of a hassle and Ichigo gestured like this was proof and said, “See? He’s sturdy.”

 

Grimmjow watched the shinigami with a look that managed to be both bored and disgust and said, “If all shinigami are this pathetic, then you really are nothing but glorified janitors.”

 

Rukia’s head whipped back and she snapped, “What was that?! By that logic hollows are just oversized rats.”

 

Grimmjow didn’t let it get to him, smirking. “Then shinigami are janitors  _ and _ vultures.”

 

Ichigo’s heart wasn’t fully in it when he chastised them. “Both of you shut up, he’s going to notice us.” Thy name was not ‘stealth’, especially when they were bored.

 

“Good,” Grimmjow said, “This is dull.”

 

“You think anything that doesn't start with your sword in your hand is dull.” Ichigo pointed out. 

 

“Lewd,” Rukia said. 

 

Ichigo rolled his eyes. “I was being literal.”

 

Grimmjow barked, “Ha. I don't even have a sword in resurreccion.”

 

“ _ Start with _ ,” Ichigo said.

 

Rukia scoffed and shrugged. “If it still ends with you on your back, I don't see the difference.”

 

Ichigo’s eyes snapped to Grimmjow in curiosity, but  his response was predictable. “Fuck you,” Grimmjow drawled lazily. She wasn’t really wrong, so the Espada changed the subject. “So what are the odds we run across Hell anyways?”

 

Rukia and Ichigo shared a look, and Ichigo admitted, “I've only seen the gates of Hell once.” His eyes flicked to Rukia. “And I was with her.”

 

Rukia frowned and said, “That was the first time I’d seen them as well.”

 

Grimmjow stared at them in outraged disbelief, then recovered into his usual distemper. “You can’t be serious. So we go through all this and it might be a massive waste of time?”

 

Ichigo watched the shinigami fighting down below them backpedal into a parked car. He thanked their lucky stars the alarm didn’t go off. He said, “You know what, Rukia, save this guy. He might be more inclined to trust us after that.”

 

“Gladly,” she said. She straightened and blurred into shunpo.

 

“What about me?” Grimmjow asked.

 

Ichigo rolled his head over to look at him and replied,  _ “What about _ you?”

 

The Espada seethed in annoyance and grumbled, “My potential is wasted.”

 

Grimmjow wasn't far off the mark, and Ichigo had some mercy on him. “Patience, Grimmjow. These shinigami haven't ever seen an arrancar before, and Rukia looks friendly.”

 

The Espada decided that was a compliment. 

 

Ichigo watched Rukia dispatch the hollow with casual ease, watching the hollow dissipate into reishi. He felt it sink back into the primordial energy he was inextricably tied to in the same way he might feel the wind tease his hair; it was there, but distant and unthreatening, so it was easy to ignore. 

 

Instead of seeping between the spaces between worlds, it gathered, just one more soul saturating the air. It was merely a reminder that repairing that instability was important and necessary.

 

One thing at a time. 

 

Rukia approached the tired shinigami with the friendly ease of a coworker, sheathing her sword as she did. Ichigo wasn't sure what was said, but it looked like he recognized her, and he had no reason to fear another shinigami, so he sheathed his sword, immediately relaxed. She gestured, small, conservative motions, then broadly, telling what looked to be a very animated story. 

 

Rukia gestured in his direction, and the shinigami nodded, arms crossed in contemplation. Rukia turned and made eye contact with Ichigo, raising her hand in a small wave. He knew he wasn't visible from that distance, not in the shadows, so his position was compromised, but not his appearance. The eye contact were merely proof that Rukia knew just how to take advantage of her connection to his soul.

 

“Go,” Ichigo said.

 

It might be an order, but it was a simple one, and one Grimmjow wanted to follow. 

 

The Espada stepped into sonido, clearly reappearing a bit too close for comfort for the shinigami, because the stranger tripped back and scrambled to draw his sword.

 

Grimmjow laughed, Ichigo saw it in the shake of his shoulders and he could hear it bounce off the pavement, raucous and patronizing. It had been awhile since the arrancar could make an impression, and as much as Ichigo enjoyed the sound, it wasn't settling the shinigami's nerves any. 

 

Rukia said something to Grimmjow, but it was too little, too late, and the shinigami attacked. Grimmjow blocked with a raised arm and a bark of laughter. 

 

Fidgeting, Ichigo muttered, “Reel it in, Grimmjow. Come on.”

 

The shinigami tried again, but he was even less effective than before. Grimmjow caught his sword and took it from him. Great.

 

The shinigami decided this was a good chance to run, which was about the worst thing he could have done. Ichigo didn't think Grimmjow could resist chasing when something ran, all it did was rile him up. Grimmjow buzzed into sonido to cut him off and Rukia stepped into shunpo at the same moment, putting herself between them.

 

Ichigo ground his teeth, wondering if he shouldn't intervene. He didn't want to give this guy a heart attack, so he waited, but Rukia didn't know how to wrangle a cat, Grimmjow was a slippery bastard, he already had his hand on the shinigami. Ichigo felt bad for the guy, it was like watching a cat batter a mouse, and this was quickly devolving into chaos. 

 

_ 'That's it, I'm intervening.’ _

 

“ **_Why? This is the most amusing thing I've seen all day_ ** .”

 

‘You just answered your own question.’

 

Pushing away from the wall with a disappointed exhale, Ichigo stepped through la sangre to the parking lot. It wasn’t intentional, but that was enough for the trio to freeze, all eyes on him. He didn’t mean to command all of their attention, but it seemed inevitable. 

 

Grimmjow was holding the man a foot and a half off the ground, Rukia was handing off his bicep like a monkey, and the shinigami was poised to kick Grimmjow in the balls. “That’s enough of that,” Ichigo said.

 

Raising his hand, Ichigo could sense the tightly wound cluster of souls that made up the shinigami’s zanpakuto lying wedged somewhere under a car tire. Pulling it through la sangre, the blade fell the couple of inches from la sangre into his open palm.

 

Eyes flicking to his conduit, Ichigo ordered, “Put the man down, Grimmjow.”

 

Grimmjow gave him an annoyed scowl, then loosened his fist and the man fell on his ass. Good enough. Ichigo paced over to him, and he honestly hoped he wasn’t as scary as this guy seemed to think he was. Telling him to relax wasn’t going to do a damn thing. 

 

Holding his Zanpakuto out to him hilt first, the shinigami shakily accepted it. He held it out before him defensively. Ichigo could see the shiver in the blade as the shinigami trembled and he tried not to sigh. Ichigo held his hand down to him and the shinigami blinked at it, uncomprehending.

 

“He’s offering you a hand up, ya rude asshole,” Grimmjow said.

 

Ichigo shot Grimmjow a disapproving look, then looked back down at the shinigami. “I'm not gonna hurt you, promise.”

 

Rukia nodded and told the shinigami. “See, I told you he  _ looked _ scary.”

 

Both Ichigo and the shinigami’s eyes snapped to Rukia. Ichigo frowned, “You told him that?”

 

She gave him a helpless look and crossed her arms  “Was I supposed to  _ lie _ ?”

 

Grimmjow scoffed. “He doesn't  _ look _ scary, he  _ is _ scary, you're doin’ him a disservice.”

 

Ichigo rolled his eyes, and he figured this shinigami had never seen a hollow that was about to eat him do that, because he finally took his hand. Ichigo pulled him to his feet with ease and immediately gave him some space. It might not mean much practically, but he liked to think he was thoughtful.

 

The shinigami lowered his sword but didn’t sheathe it, looking from a scowling, antsy Grimmjow, back to him. “You’re Kurosaki?”

 

“Yes,” Ichigo answered.

 

For a moment it seemed the shinigami struggled to say what was on his mind. “What are you?”

 

Grimmjow answered for Ichigo. “A fucking demigod, so put the sword away, you're embarrassing yourself.”

 

The shinigami looked confused, mostly. Ichigo resisted the urge to sigh and shot Grimmjow a chiding look. 

 

“ _ What _ ?” Grimmjow snapped. “He couldn't cut you with that thing if you had one foot in the grave and were in a coma.”

 

Grimmjow was right but it was still rude. “Look, I just want to send you to Soul Society.”

 

The man's eyes widened. “But the senkai-”

 

“ _ He's _ the senkaimon,” Grimmjow interrupted. “So let's get on with it, there's a lot of you fuckers.”

 

The man frowned and eyed Ichigo warily. His eyes returned to Rukia, the only one present that he recognized. She said, “He's telling the truth.”

 

A bit of back and forth later, and Ichigo tapped the shinigami on the chest, sending him directly to soul society. He didn't need to touch him, but it certainly made people feel better to assume that he did. 

 

Half a day and four shinigami later, the trio were down to a system. Even if Ichigo could go a long stretch without sleeping, because of Alteza or not, Rukia and Grimmjow still needed sleep and food.

 

Ichigo thought it creeped Rukia out a bit that he didn't need to eat. She wouldn't say it but the look on her face was easy enough to read. He was different, and reminders of that we're always a stumbling point for her, and he couldn't blame her, he could relate to that; there was hardly a person he knew that was unchanged from his time.  

 

Ichigo could have brought them back to Soul Society to sleep, but after a small argument and a tiny meltdown from Grimmjow, Ichigo caved. Hijacking an empty hotel room in a city he'd never visited before was a new experience, but they were souls, no one would be the wiser.

 

Rukia took a bed, sprawled out like a starfish, and was out like a light. She had an absurd amount of trust in him, but he knew it was also because she worked too hard. 

 

He could pretend not to notice the dark smudges under her eyes, the clench of her jaw and the tension in her shoulders, and in return she pretended not to notice when he moved too quickly, forgot to blink, or stared off into space. It was a silent agreement to convince themselves things were as they used to be.

 

The chaos of his thoughts were juxtaposed by the soft whisper of her breath and the peaceful hum of her reiatsu. He felt Grimmjow’s eyes on him, the presence of his soul expectant, whereas Rukia’s was not. Ichigo didn't want to be there anymore, so he left her in the dark of the room. 

 

Sliding open the door, Ichigo stepped outside onto a balcony overlooking a sea of warm lights and the murmur of a culture he didn't even recognize.  It didn't matter where he was; it could have been Karakura and it would have felt just as removed. 

 

Grimmjow caught his mood as he often did those days, following him onto the balcony. His conduit stepped up beside him, crossing his arms and leaning on the rail. Ichigo knew disapproval would only be met with stubborn resistance, but he tried anyways. “Sleep, Grimmjow.”

 

He didn't give an answer or leave. Ichigo should have expected as much, Grimmjow never did what he wanted, and that was sometimes frustrating, but never unwelcome. 

 

The wind was cold and heavy with the salt of the sea, a scent that seemed to stir something in Grimmjow. Nostalgia, pain, longing, yet the conduit seemed determined not to acknowledge it.

 

Grimmjow asked, “Why here?”

 

“No reason,” Ichigo said. Then he realized that was a lie. “It isn't Karakura.”

 

Grimmjow eyed him and said, “You’ve been weird ever since we got here.”

 

“To the hotel?”

 

“No,  _ dumbass _ , living world.”

 

Oh. Ichigo looked across at him, and Grimmjow looked back, his usual scowl softened with uncertainty. Ichigo thought he hid his feelings well enough, and despite that, Grimmjow  _ knew _ . 

 

They spent enough time together, it was inevitable, and he had access to his soul. Ichigo knew from experience that it didn't help him understand people when you had glimpses into their soul. People were complex things with context and thought he just didn't have access to. The same went for Grimmjow. His fraccion felt the things he tried to hide, but why he felt them and what caused them was still mostly a mystery to the other.

 

From the look Grimmjow gave him, his fraccion could only guess, but was concerned enough to ask.

 

Ichigo answered, skirting the truth. “It’s just weird to be... here.”

 

“The hotel,” Grimmjow said. Ichigo shot him a glare, and Grimmjow pretended not to know what it was for.

 

Letting out a heavy breath, Ichigo scowled down at the city. “It's just strange...to  exist outside all this.” 

 

“Yeah, being dead sucks.”

 

“You know what I mean,” Ichigo said.

 

“You were alive, human, you're not so special,” Grimmjow growled.

 

_ Were _ . Past tense. That shouldn't bother him so much but it did. “You're trying to make me feel better,” Ichigo said.

 

Grimmjow drummed his fingers on the railing and leaning forward, his restlessness transferring to his foot. He lifted and dropped it, bouncing his toes in a steady rhythm. “Even with die Konigin?”

 

“ _ Especially _ with die Konigin,” Ichigo answered. “The temptation is there, from all of them.” The God's pushed and pulled and  _ yearned _ , and Ichigo was just one soul. How long before he lost that battle? How long before people were nothing but souls and power? 

 

“I thought we fixed this?” Grimmjow sounded angry, but Ichigo sensed his worry buried within it.

 

“Postponed,” Ichigo corrected. “It's only been weeks, and living world already feels unfamiliar.”

 

“I don't know what that means, Kurosaki.” 

 

“Cities, streets, beds, noise, people…it's just a window into a life I can't have.”  _ Shouldn't _ have.

 

For a long moment, Grimmjow just watched him, then he asked, “What's your screeching twin have to say about this?”

 

Ichigo hadn't considered how silent Zangetsu had been until that moment.

 

“ **_Koneko can mind his own fucking business.”_ **

 

Ichigo answered easily, “He isn't saying anything.”

 

Grimmjow got a hand around his shoulder and turned him around to face him. “You're hiding things from me again.”

 

“It isn't your problem.”

 

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed a touch, and Ichigo saw that those words actually hurt him. Ichigo hoped the arrancar would back off and internalize, but he stayed put, annoyingly aware of Ichigo’s intentions. 

 

Grimmjow said, “Don't think I don't see the way you look at things.”

 

Ichigo could only assume what he meant, but none of it was positive. “What do you mean?”

 

“You barely blink, you hardly even move.” Ichigo looked away, and Grimmjow growled, “It ain't an insult, it's an observation. Yer one distracted guy, and fuck me if I don't know  _ why _ .” 

 

He sounded so distraught, Ichigo had to look back. Grimmjow's brows were drawn into his usual scowl, features always so severe, yet now they were dampened with fatigue. Every day that passed he seemed a little more tired, a little more restless. 

 

The Conduit was strong, but Ichigo knew how fragile his spiritual form really was. Grimmjow still needed to eat, still needed to sleep, he was mortal. One touch, and Ichigo knew he could kill him, and that was a thought that turned his stomach and filled him with dread.  

 

Ichigo answered Grimmjow's unspoken questions with half  of the truth. “You already know why, Grimmjow. It's same conflict as usual. The God's  _ want _ , and I won't let them take.”

 

“Then what is it about living world?”

 

“It’s nauseating to look at someone and see nothing but energy to consume or destroy. The God's are indifferent.” He looked back at the city, hiding an expression he knew would betray him. “I'm not.”

 

Grimmjow regarded him, silent, working out all the things he couldn't or wouldn't say. “Is it because they're human?”

 

“It's because they're  _ weak _ ,” Ichigo hissed. Inviting Sunyata deeper into his soul, it rushed over that spark of anger and snuffed it under a pool of fuzzy indifference. Too much, too much, too much. His grip loosened, allowing die Konigin to take its place. The slide from indifference into ardent emotion was sickening, his breath leaving his lungs in soft sigh of pain.

 

He could feel Grimmjow's eyes boring into him, so he shifted the conversation back onto the conduit. “You call yourself many things, Grimmjow, but you aren't  _ evil _ .”

 

The Conduit snorted. “Debatable.”

 

“Would you kill a  _ kitten _ ?”

 

Suspicion entered Grimmjow’s voice, sensing a trap. “Where are you going with this?”

 

“Would you?” Ichigo pressed. 

 

“Shit, Kurosaki, why?”

 

“Don’t pretend, I know you wouldn't.”

 

“I'm not an executioner, what the fuck?”

 

“And there's the difference. Some part of me wants to kill them.” Ichigo's voice fell, small and broken. “And it would be  _ easy _ .” 

 

Looking back towards the arrancar, Grimmjow had pushed back from the railing, shoulders squared and tense, frowning at him. Ichigo didn't like that look, so he looked back at wavering city lights, and a sea full of souls. “No...I don't like it here.”

 

“Kurosaki…” The arrancar’s voice tilted downward, a sound that made Ichigo’s chest tight with shame.

 

“Pity,” Ichigo snarled, “ _ now _ ?”

 

Grimmjow grabbed his shoulder, shoving him around and back against the railing. Zangetsu’s edge ground against the stone through the wrap, but Ichigo didn’t move. The arrancar leaned in, more than aware Ichigo was letting this happen. “What the fuck am I here for if not to fix this shit?”

 

“You can't fix it.”

 

“I can fucking try,” Grimmjow hissed. 

 

Ichigo started to look away, but Grimmjow's grip on his chin stopped him. “Don't look at them. Look at  _ me _ .”

 

So he looked. The obsidian lines of his mask were traced in soft golden light, outlining both of their regrets. His eyes were no better; la sangre darkened his sclera and made him look so much like the adjuchas he'd seen in his inner world. Pantera.  

 

Looking beneath flesh and bones to his soul, Alteza was slowly and steadily carving him out, eating him alive to protect it's  _ precious host _ . Ichigo's anger collapsed and left him empty. He didn’t even need Sunyata.

 

Grimmjow said, “I don't like that look either.”

 

Ichigo had no doubt about that, Grimmjow's soul was tumultuous at best, but if he listened to it, it ached. Much of it was his fault, by direct and indirect consequence. Ichigo said, “If I take any more from you there won't be anything left.”

 

“I can take it,” Grimmjow insisted.

 

Ichigo sighed through his nose and reached for his chest, his fingertips resting over his heart. A heart Grimmjow liked to pretend he didn't have. “If I keep taking, the things that make you  _ you _ won't be there any more.”

 

“You don't know that.”

 

“I do, better than you.” Ichigo countered. He let his hand fall and he watched the arrancar, unblinking. Grimmjow's hand slipped from his chin to his neck, his thumb resting over the hollow of his throat. Ichigo noted the proximity didn't bother him, and he didn't think it was because Grimmjow couldn't physically harm him. 

 

For whatever reason, Grimmjow tested his tolerance to his touch, his fingers hovering featherlight over the pulse of an artery. Even if he couldn't hurt him, the arrancar knew well enough that should garner some sort of response. Yet Ichigo didn't move; if there was one person he trusted inside and out, it was this hollow. His hollow.

 

Ichigo noted something entirely inconsequential. “I always forget you're taller than me.”

 

Grimmjow laughed, the sound strained, but genuine, and he dropped his hand. “Changing the subject?”

 

Lips quirking up into a small grin, Ichigo said, “Maybe.”

 

Grimmjow wasn't kind enough to let the subject change, not this time. “If you won't let me do something about it, then talk to me, something, but  _ this _ …distance, silence, detachment...” The humor fell from his face and his voice fell. “ _ This _ is unbearable.”

 

That surprised Ichigo, he didn’t expect Grimmjow to be so...distressed. He sensed Grimmjow’s disquiet, but he assumed it was for entirely different reasons. Ichigo answered, “You're already doing something; you're here.” With Grimmjow’s soul clutched within Alteza’s grasp, he never felt far away, but his presence there beside him had become familiar and expected. He’d once been used to being alone, but that time had come and gone, now the arrancar felt like home.

 

Grimmjow griped, “I'm not  _ doing _ anything.”

 

“I know that's difficult for you to understand, but it's enough.” Not only difficult, potentially impossible. Ichigo wouldn't be happy sitting on his hands, so he reasoned, neither would Grimmjow.

 

“You're happy with this?”

 

“Happy?” Ichigo thought about that. Happiness seems elusive, but it was present, merely overwhelmed by responsibility and the clamor of God's. He answered, “Happier than I thought I could be.” 

 

Grimmjow looked skeptical, so he elaborated. “I don't need to tell you about loneliness, you know it better than I ever did.” He trailed off, uncertain how to continue. “You're...here.”

 

“You won't let anyone else close, I'm nothing special.”

 

Ichigo barked out a laugh. “It's not because I  _ won't let _ anyone else stay. You know why I let you close.”

 

“Cause better some hollow than your family?”

 

“Grimmjow, you know that's not it, why do you do that?”

 

“Do fucking what?” Grimmjow snarled.

 

There it was, the Alteza fueled rabid want for violence. He'd kept it beaten down well enough, Ichigo was impressed. “Try to get a rise out of me.”

 

Grimmjow shouted, “Cause I can't get,” Ichigo whirled, grabbing a fistful of Grimmjow's jacket and pushed them both through la sangre, ”anything else out of you!” They were on the roof, far away enough not to wake Rukia, if she wasn't already awake. “I feel what you're doing, don't think I don't.”

 

Ichigo blinked at him, honestly unsure what he meant. Grimmjow's face sharpened into a grimace. “I felt it with Gin, and I feel it now.”

 

Ichigo let him go, taking a small step back, but Grimmjow stepped in close again. “Before it was anger, it was a hell of a lot of Alteza, but now it's gone. Poof, gone, but I still wanna  kill everything that walks across my path,  _ Alteza _ ain't gone.  _ Nothing _ is that easy, especially not with you.”

 

“What are you accusing one of?” Ichigo asked.

 

Grimmjow ignored that in favor of a question. “So which God is it?”

 

Ichigo was silent, so Grimmjow started to guess. “Die Konigin?” He searched Ichigo's reaction, and his eyes narrowed. “Nah, that thing only makes it worse. Sunyata then.”

 

Ichigo frowned, resisting the urge to look away now that he'd been found out. He wasn't proud if it, he didn't want anyone to know. Rukia was none the wiser but Grimmjow...Grimmjow knew him, knew this peaceful facade was just that; a facade. 

 

“I can't afford to lose control,” Ichigo said, “Not here.”

 

“You mean you can't afford to  _ feel _ .”

 

Ichigo flinched, struggling to hold Grimmjow's accusatory glare. He deflected, “Is there a difference? The two aren't mutually exclusive.”

 

“Maybe I wanna be selfish!” Grimmjow shouted. 

 

Selfish. Ichigo didn't follow, his brows creased in thought, but Grimmjow wasn't done. “If I'm stuck dying a slow death, I'm not gonna waste the time I've got with _this_ , this watered down version of you, not for a minute longer than I have to. Get mad, get upset; I _hate_ _this_.” 

 

Ichigo tensed at the disgust wrapped around that word; hate. He felt it in the ugly twist of his words and the heat in his eyes. Grimmjow might not have come out and said it, but he loathed him as he was, despised it, and Ichigo felt a stab of shame, even through Sunyata’s haze.

 

Grimmjow noticed that shame, and with blood in the water he didn't relent. “The fuck am I here for if not to  _ take it  _ so you don't have to.”

 

Ichigo brows fell, the look in his eyes hardening.  _ And if you're not enough.  _ The thought lingered between them within a heavy cloud of doubt. 

 

Grimmjow got even closer, painfully so. “You're scared.”

 

“I'm not strong enough.”

 

“Strong enough for what?” Grimmjow pressured him, desperate for something, anything. 

 

Ichigo felt to deny him what he wanted now would be cruel. Grimmjow had nothing, he hardly asked for anything. Sure, he fought to take it, but it wasn't often he demanded Ichigo do something. He let his grip on Sunyata slide, feeling the burn of Alteza replace the cold numbness he was quickly growing fond of. Slippery slope. It had barely been weeks, and he was already sliding. 

 

Ichigo's voice was low, so unwilling to give voice to the fears he had to face. “‘I’m not strong enough to feel.”

 

“Bullshit,” Grimmjow hissed.

 

“I make mistakes.”

 

“So what?”

 

“My mistakes  _ hurt _ people.”

 

“ _ So fucking what?!” _

 

Ichigo abruptly turned away, taking a few steps in a surge of annoyance. Gathering himself, his eyes roamed the rooftop, never resting. He knew his annoyance was only present because he was afraid. They were alone on that rooftop, but they had an audience in his soul. Just about everyone in the Gotei 13 had a front row seat to him mental breakdown, but Grimmjow asked, and he deserved to know.

 

He turned to face the arrancar again, and let his grip on everything go. It all rushed back, filling the void in his heart. It was too much, too quickly. It tightened his throat, choking him with it, the rage seizing his muscles like coiled vipers. He grit his teeth through a growl. “You want me to say I'm  _ jealous _ , that I'm angry? Spiteful? Petty? Who gives a shit what I feel?!”

 

“I do!”

 

That stopped Ichigo short, staring back at Grimmjow in shock. Grimmjow looked back in mirrored confusion. It didn't seem to be his admission, but the force of his conviction. 

 

Ichigo wanted to know why, but Grimmjow wanted to move on. The arrancar asked, “You're jealous?”

 

Ichigo's thoughts once again derailed to Aizen. The man knew. He knew it would come to this and the shinigami  _ laughed in his face _ . 

 

**_“Don't go there, King, it isn't worth it.”_ **

 

It really wasn't. He could never be a part of this, there was no changing that, but comparing himself to Aizen wasn't productive. “Yeah,  _ jealous _ ,” Ichigo said. “I miss going to school, worrying about stupid shit that doesn't even matter, having friends-”

 

“Thanks, asshole,” Grimmjow interjected.

 

Ichigo let slip a bark of laughter. “You're more than a friend, Grimmjow. I don't know what you are.”

 

From the look on Grimmjow’s face, he didn’t either, and he wasn’t offering up any suggestions. The Conduit shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled. “Why the fuck would you wanna be some sheep in a crowd?”

 

“Because it's simple.”

 

“You would hate it.”

 

Ichigo looked away, eyes landing on the city sprawled below him, breathed in the raging hum of life, and had to agree. “Probably. Doesn't stop me from wondering what could have been.”

 

“You're damn near a God, besides all the horseshit about your soul, why wouldn't you want power?”

 

“Isn't it obvious?” Ichigo looked back at him when he didn’t answer, noting the furrow of confusion in his brow. Ichigo was aware that for someone that clawed and scraped for power all their life, his outlook was strange. “I used to be like you, all I wanted was to be stronger, but I wanted it to protect people.”

 

“Still scared you'll hurt me?”

 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Ichigo said. He moved, suddenly inches from the arrancar, but Grimmjow was used to it, he didn't even flinch. ”I still have restraint, I’m not that far gone.” He reached for Grimmjow, surprising the arrancar when he reached for his bare cheek rather than his mask. “I know I can stop myself, but I have to  _ try _ .” 

 

His fingers smoothed over the arc of his cheekbone, testing Grimmjow’s reaction, then pressed his palm to his jaw. Grimmjow stopped breathing, but his heart pounded like a trapped bird. “Kurosa-”

 

“I hate that the urge is there. This need to devour, obliterate... _ Yes _ ,” His voice broke and twisted over that word. “I'm jealous. I wish I knew what it was like without all of that  _ noise _ . I don't remember banality.”

 

“Are you jealous of  _ me _ ?”

 

Ichigo paused, because he hadn't given it any conscious thought. Grimmjow was a constant presence in his life, but as he stared back at the conduit, he realized he was. “Yeah...yeah I think I am.”

 

“What the fuck for?”

 

Ichigo said, “Your life wasn’t all bad, don’t act like you don’t remember what it was like.” Sunshine, seafoam, and a dazzling smile; those memories couldn't belong to anyone but Grimmjow. “I know you do.”

 

Grimmjow jerked his head to remove his hand, but Ichigo stepped closer, pressing his palm flat to his cheek. The arrancar froze and didn't try to back away again, watching him carefully. Grimmjow's expression was guarded, but through that contact and through his soul, Ichigo felt his conduit’s heart rubbed raw.

 

Grimmjow already knew he'd seen parts of his past, but the arrancar was deeply private, and dragging it to the forefront was clearly the last thing he wanted. It was knowledge Ichigo wished he didn't have. “I don't mean to see your memories.”

 

Something sparked in Grimmjow’s eyes, and the arrancar fought to turn the conversation back. “Then you  _ know _ , why the fuck would you be jealous of  _ that _ ?”

 

“You still don’t understand,” Ichigo said. “It isn't a single part of you, it's everything. You might be my conduit, but you're still…”

 

“Mortal,” Grimmjow supplied.

 

“I wasn't going to say that.” 

 

Grimmjow continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “You're jealous of mortality?” Mortality...Death. Surrounded by it, yet he hardly wanted to think about it. That struck close enough to home that it ached, searing a line into his soul, someplace deeper than even Alteza could reach. 

 

**_“King.”_ **

 

Nothing but a single word, his hollow’s tone laden with the reminder of that agonizing moment in Hueco Mundo. Sisters dead, hope crushed, his heart burned away by the scorching fire of pain. There was no afterlife for him, this was it. There was no death to happily embrace, there was no peace left...not for Ichigo.

 

Ichigo's face fell and he pulled his hand back, but Grimmjow’s hand snatched it, calloused fingers rough along the back of his hand. Blue eyes locked on his, wide in concern. 

 

Ichigo held still; he didn't squash his feelings, he didn’t run from them, not like before. Grimmjow asked him not to, and that meant everything. 

 

His voice felt thick in his throat, but for fucks sake at least he didn’t  _ cry _ . “It hasn’t even happened, how stupid is that?”

 

“Kurosaki, you’re only giving me bits and pieces, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” The words he chose were aggressive, but they lacked the force of his usual cranky temper.

 

Ichigo pulled his hand away, not because he wanted to, and turned to put his back to the rooftop wall. He sat on the edge, noting it was terrifyingly short. Seemed a good place to jump, he couldn’t help but notice, even when heights were no longer a fear. He didn’t see a door to get up here, so it probably wasn’t even a hazard, but he thought it anyways.

 

Grimmjow sat next to him, close enough that his knee touched, and rest his arms over his thighs. “Talk,” the arrancar demanded.

 

And Ichigo caved, his cobbled together composure crumbling. “No one’s gone, they’re not d-...they’re alive.” His shoulders jerked with a rough laugh, one that sounded more like a gutted sob. “And that’s just it, they’re mortal.”

 

“So they become souls, you’re in Soul Society all the time.”

 

“And then what?” Disgust curled Ichigo’s lip, his eyes roaming over the water pooled into the dips of the roof. “They watch their brother slowly lose his mind?”

 

“Fuck,” Grimmjow growled, “That’s decades off. You’ve got time.”

 

“I should be dead.”

 

“ _ Kurosaki _ .”

 

Ichigo couldn’t be sure if he heard a question or merely appalled outrage in Grimmjow’s voice.

 

“It would have been the perfect moment.”  Grimmjow’s hand fisted in the front of his shihakusho, and Ichigo found himself inches away from blazing blue eyes. 

 

“The fuck are you saying?” Grimmjow growled.

 

“You said you wanted honesty,” Ichigo said. 

 

Confliction weakened Grimmjow’s resolve, but he didn’t back down. “What’s all this shit about dying?! You’re not allowed to die.”

 

Ichigo laughed, a small, broken sound. “That’s just it, I’m not allowed to die, they won’t let me.”

 

There wasn’t just anger in those eyes anymore, Ichigo finally saw understanding. Grimmjow tightened his grip, pulling him closer, enough that Ichigo put a hand on Grimmjow’s knee to keep from falling into his lap. “You want to die?” Grimmjow looked and sounded angry, but his heart betrayed something pained.

 

“I'm not suicidal,” Ichigo reassured him. Confusion washed over Grimmjow’s face, the arrancar’s hand tightening hard enough his knuckles cracked. “It was my last chance to die, there’s no one left that can kill me.” 

 

Ichigo’s voice fell with a growl, his throat tight with pain and rage he kept pretending didn't exist. “So yes, I’m fucking  _ jealous _ .  _ You _ won't lose your mind, I won’t let you,  _ I’ll kill you _ . I’ll kill you and I’ll have to fucking live with that, until I don’t, cause I’ll be FUCKING CRAZY!”

 

Breathing hard, Ichigo didn’t remember lifting his hand to Grimmjow’s throat, but it was there, tight enough he knew Grimmjow couldn’t breathe. The shock on Grimmjow’s face slackened his features in a way Ichigo had only seen in sleep. He expected rage in return, not this. Ichigo loosened his grip, but didn’t remove his hand. “Say something!”

 

“This is what’s been bothering you?” Grimmjow’s voice was shockingly even, and Ichigo realized what he felt. Guilt. Pity.

 

Ichigo shoved him back hard enough that Grimmjow fell and had to catch himself on the ground with both hands, his knee splashing into a puddle. That felt good, but it also didn’t feel like enough, and the very fact he  _ liked _ seeing Grimmjow on his hands and knees turned his stomach. He wanted to hurt him, and he didn’t know if those feelings were his own.

 

Grimmjow looked up at him, and the shine of fear in his eyes made Ichigo rock back on his heels. He wanted to hurt him, he wanted to  _ protect _ him, and those two urges melted into something sickening and ugly.

 

Turning away with a shout of frustration, Ichigo stepped through la sangre, putting distance between them before he did something he would regret. Hands clenched into fists, his claws scored his palms and slicked his fingers in blood. Why was he so angry? He’s the one that dragged Grimmjow down and now he hated him for it? How the fuck was that fair?

 

He turned in circles, panicking, feeling Grimmjow’s eyes on him as sharply as he felt the arrancar’s pity. That emotion was entirely unwanted. He snarled, “Don’t you dare.”

 

Grimmjow got to his feet, he heard the scuff of his shoes and the shift of his clothes, but he refused to look at him. He let out a ragged breath, reaching for die Konigin without realizing, not until he jerked away from it and the sudden ache of his heart. All the light in the city was abruptly snuffed out, banished along with die Konigin. 

 

They stood in darkness, and a silence more akin to Hueco Mundo, the light pollution of the city gone.

 

Abandoning all sense, Grimmjow walked over to him. Some of that fear was still present, but Grimmjow disregarded it and approached him anyways. Why did he do that? Why did he ignore his instincts like that? Eyes on Grimmjow’s feet, Ichigo refused to look at him, but he didn’t run, he was better than that. At least he told himself he was, but it could also be curiosity. 

 

Grimmjow planted his feet directly before him and startled Ichigo when his fingertips brushed along his jaw. Ichigo’s eyes snapped up to meet Grimmjow’s in shock. He felt the tremble in the arrancar’s arm and he finally understood where that fear came from. He was nervous, this was different, new, and unfamiliar territory.

 

Blue eyes met his, raw and unguarded, brows furrowed, his lips a tight line. His conduit flattened his hand to his cheek, and his palm burned like fire. His mind staggered over the reality that Grimmjow  _ touched _ him. He hadn’t ever touched him like that before. No one had. 

 

“Good, you’re listening.” Grimmjow’s voice sounded thick, tight with emotion Ichigo knew he’d never dare show anyone. “You wanna hate me? Hate me. You wanna hurt me? Do it.”

 

“I-”

 

“Shut the fuck up! I’m not done.” Grimmjow’s hand slipped higher to fist in his hair, pulling Ichigo closer. “I have a  hard time telling how much of your anger is you, and how much is Alteza, or die Konigin, or  _ whatever _ , but  _ this _ . All this shit, is you. You can pretend you’re not a wreck with your fucking friends, but not with me. I asked for this, I ain’t backing down from it. I’m not a coward.”

 

Grimmjow was many things, but Ichigo would never call him a coward. A coward wouldn’t invite any of this onto themselves, let alone face it head on when they were dragged into this level of bullshit. He said, “You don’t deserve this.”

 

Grimmjow’s face twisted into an ugly smile. “Talking like a god again, you fucking asshole.  _ You _ don’t tell me what _ I  _ deserve.  _ Fuck you _ !” 

 

And he was right. 

 

Ichigo closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath, one wrapped up in a sound he didn’t even realize he’d made. Grimmjow pressed his forehead to his, and Ichigo didn’t move. He was so used to violence, his thoughts stuttered to a halt under a gentle touch. Weeks of the arrancar’s presence made it shockingly easy to accept. 

 

The arrancar's grip tightened on the back of his neck and he growled, “Fuck if it ain't fair. Do you see me judging you?”

 

“I wish you would.”

 

“Don't tell me what to do, Kurosaki.”

 

“I don't want your pity,” Ichigo hissed.

 

“It's not as simple as that.”

 

“Isn't it?” Ichigo asked, his voice contained in a bitter laugh.

 

“Just listen for a fuckin’ second. You make the best of it, but I feel it, you have to know I feel it too; you're not free…” Ichigo’s heart plummeted at the truth in those words, his masquerade ripped apart in one breath. Grimmjow continued, his fingers tugged his hair, pulling at the roots. “and I hate it.” 

 

Ichigo tried to pull away, but Grimmjow held fast, clawing desperately at his hair. Ichigo stilled at his silent plea, pressing back against his forehead. He wondered if Grimmjow was afraid he'd see his expression. 

 

His conduit spoke, his voice so quiet Ichigo had to strain to hear. “You think it's pity, but you're wrong.”

 

Afraid of the answer, Ichigo swallowed and asked, “Then what?”

 

Grimmjow's hand moved, willing his hand to relax, and his palm clasped the back of Ichigo's neck, holding him close, in a grip that was possessive yet oddly gentle. For a long moment, the space was shared by nothing but their breath and the wind. Calloused fingers dragged harsh lines over the ridges of his vertebrae, then veered upwards, his fingers tangling in his hair. Grimmjow tightened his grip, pulling him closer, his answer small and broken. “Grief, Kurosaki.”

 

Confusion weighed on Ichigo so heavy, he tried to pull back to see him, but Grimmjow held tighter, hopeful he wouldn't see his face.  So Ichigo remained close to him, sparing his pride, and focused instead on the tight hiss of his breath.

 

Ichigo asked, “What for?”

 

“For  _ you _ , dumbass.”

 

Ichigo's breath caught in his throat, biting his lower lip. For him. 

 

Grimmjow kept speaking, words tumbling from his lips as he rambled, “You were always good at hiding. With the shinigami sharing your soul, I should have known that you would do it again _...stupid _ , I should have known.”

 

Grimmjow knew he was hiding, and that hurt more than the confession itself. All his ugly secrets were drawn out, Grimmjow wasn't letting him hide, and despite all his power...he felt vulnerable.

 

It hadn't occurred to him that Grimmjow might mourn what he'd lost. It wasn't that he thought Grimmjow lacked empathy, he just didn't think the other had cared. He  _ shouldn’t _ care. Ichigo was the one to grant him power, but by mere proximity Grimmjow was suffering. His espada reached for him, and like Icarus, he was burning up, the price was too high. 

 

Ichigo argued, “You've got it wrong, you’re not responsible for me. You’re mine.”

 

Grimmjow snarled, “You have no idea, do you Kurosaki? I couldn’t shake you if I tried, you’re in my thoughts, my soul, like fucking poison, and I can’t get rid of you.”

 

It was true, but it didn’t hurt any less. Ichigo flinched back, heart aching, easily fighting Grimmjow’s hold but the arrancar stepped forward, his voice rough. “I ain’t talkin’ about Alteza, dumbass.”

 

Ichigo stilled, not comprehending. Grimmjow said, “You reeled me in and I’m here, so don’t shut me out.” He added as an afterthought, fingers wrestling a tighter hold of tangled black hair. “Fuck you for that.”

 

Ichigo got a handful of his jacket, to push him back or pull him closer, he wasn’t sure, but once he had him, he did nothing, only listened, worried if he spoke, Grimmjow might stop.

 

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe  _ I'm _ selfish? If you feel shit,  _ I _ feel shit, and it ain't because I'm stuck feeling your soul.”

 

That admission startled Ichigo, and when Grimmjow didn’t elaborate, he fished for answers. “What do you mean?”

 

After a long pause, Grimmjow admitted, “I don’t know.”

 

Trying to pull back, Ichigo encountered resistance again. He stopped fighting Grimmjow’s hold and sighed, “I’m not hiding from you anymore, don’t hide from me.” Grimmjow didn’t move, and Ichigo wrestled with a word that scraped his ego and pride in way it never had before. “Please.”

 

Grimmjow let him go, his hand loosening and allowing Ichigo to pull back to see his face. His hand lingered on the side of his neck, palm much warmer than Ichigo expected it to be. Lifting his eyes to meet Grimmjow’s, his conduit met his gaze with a steady look, one without the barriers he was used to. Blue eyes blazed against a backdrop of black, and Ichigo tried to understand how eyes so fierce could be so sad. 

 

Without giving it much thought, Ichigo unfisted his hand from his jacket and reached for his mask. Fear flashed in Grimmjow’s eyes and Ichigo paused, and let go of the lie. “I don’t need to touch you to feel your heart.”

 

Panic spread across Grimmjow’s face, and Ichigo closed the gap, his palm resting over the uneven, sandpaper surface of his mask. Grimmjow stiffened, but watched expectantly, silently demanding an explanation.

 

Ichigo traced the sharp edge of his mask with his thumb, the ache in Grimmjow’s heart mirroring his own. “I touched you because I didn’t want you to be afraid of me, but there’s no reason for a lie, not anymore.”

 

Voice thick, Grimmjow asked, “If you can feel my heart anyways, why are you touching me?”

 

Ichigo scoffed sofly. “Because I want to.” He smiled, but it hurt, baring his teeth in a grimace more than any expression of joy. “Just looking at you hurts.  _ I _ did this,  _ I _ hurt you, and it makes me hate you more. Why do you stay? Why do you let me do this?”

 

Grimmjow lifted his hand to cover Ichigo’s, shockingly gentle, while Ichigo’s grew more violent, tendons straining as he gripped his mask, the irrational desire to crush his heart for daring to trust him with it making his hand tremble. Grimmjow grimaced in pain and said, “Zangetsu did this.”

 

“ _ I am _ Zangetsu,” Ichigo hissed.  

 

“So what, I want you alive,” Grimmjow said. “I don’t blame you.”

 

Ichigo tightened his grip, enough that his mask creaked under the pressure. “You should!”

 

Grimmjow’s response was stubbornly even. “I don’t.”

 

“Why do you let me do this?!” Ichigo shouted.

 

Grimmjow didn’t answer, but that sadness still softened his eyes and twisted Ichigo’s heart. He didn’t deserve that, not after everything he’d done, everything he wanted to do. Gritting his teeth, Ichigo shoved back, throwing them both through la sangre. Slamming Grimmjow back against the roof access door, the metal rang, hollow and heavy with the impact. Grimmjow said nothing, there was no judgement there, just a bundle of emotions wrapped up in grief. 

 

Shoving Grimmjow’s head back by his mask, Ichigo snarled, “Why?!” Forced to bare his throat, Grimmjow just took it, he did nothing but glare, those eyes burning into him with such steady confidence. Ichigo hated it.

 

Desperate for a reaction, Ichigo shoved a hand up against his stomach, pressing a clawed thumb along the rim of his hollow hole.  _ That _ got a reaction. Grimmjow let out a heavy, awful breath, brows twisting in anguish. Ichigo felt a stab of satisfaction and disgust, both wanting to stop himself, and eager to continue. Grimmjow’s heart ached, struggling like a trapped animal, and Ichigo forced his palm down on his hollow hole, like he was trying to split Grimmjow in half by it. 

 

The air rushed from Grimmjow’s lungs like he’d been punched, squeezing his eyes shut. Instinct had Grimmjow fighting back, clawing to remove Ichigo’s hands. His knees buckled so Ichigo’s steely grip on his mask was the only thing keeping him on his feet. “This is all I have for you, Grimmjow!”

 

Pain.

 

**_“King, you’re going to kill him.”_ **

 

_ ‘Fine!’ _

 

**_“King!”_ **

 

Grimmjow trembled under his hands, his claws sinking deep into his hollow hole, tearing at his soul. Tears fell from eyes screwed tight, his breath coming in short, tight pants, words and thoughts stolen from him. It felt good, it also made him feel sick. Guts turning over in self hatred, Ichigo considered killing him, and the pain Grimmjow felt was suddenly his own. Loosening his grip, Ichigo spat. “Hate me.”

 

Grimmjow sucked in a rattling breath, those blue eyes locking on his own with no visible difference other than pain. “I can’t.”

 

“Why not? It’s easy! I use you, I hurt you, I’m tearing you apart!”  _ Don’t let me down now, Grimmjow. Fight me, hate me. _

 

Grimmjow’s brows drew tight, lashes wet with tears, a bright blush of shame dusting his cheeks and racing up towards his ears. “You asked me why.”

 

“So tell me,” Ichigo demanded.

 

He spoke, soft and raspy, his throat tight with emotion. “I love you.”

 

His voice was so soft, Ichigo was sure he heard him wrong. Eyes widening, his grip fell slack, and Grimmjow crumpled against the wall, sliding down it to sit in a heap on the ground. “Don’t act so surprised, Kurosaki,” the arrancar muttered. “You knew.”

 

Did he though?

 

Ichigo stared down at Grimmjow, but the arrancar didn’t look at him, he looked at the rooftop, curled protectively around his hollow hole. Shame struck Ichigo like a wall, and Grimmjow looked up, but there was no blame written on his face, only understanding. “You think I don’t get you, Kurosaki. I do.”

 

“I want to hurt you, and I  _ hate _ it.” He hated himself, but he also revelled in it. He shouldn’t feel like that, but he did, and for some reason, Grimmjow just took it.

 

“I don’t blame you,” Grimmjow said, and there was no waver in his heart, he meant every word. Goddamn him.

 

“You should.”

 

“Fuck off, I do what I want, and I’m exactly where I wanna be.” Grimmjow’s lips curled in anger and he hissed, “Always the martyr, everything’s always about  _ you _ . Fuck off. _ I  _ choose what I want, and this is it.” So many words left the arrancar breathless, arms still wrapped around his middle like he was holding himself together.

 

And the fucker was right. He didn’t hate him like Ichigo wanted, but he never, ever did as he was told. 

 

Grimmjow blinked, and looked away, something cold creeping into the other’s heart. Ichigo didn’t like it, so he abandoned caution and moved over him, standing above him. Grimmjow watched, wary  and expecting violence, and that twisted Ichigo’s heart. That’s what he’d wanted, or rather, what he thought he did, but fuck if it didn’t hurt.

 

Standing between his knees and planting a hand on the wall above Grimmjow, Ichigo slid down to crouch before him. His claws traced the wall, and he left his hand by Grimmjow’s cheek, pinning him with a single look. Ichigo said, “I didn’t give you an answer.”

 

Grimmjow looked confused, then understanding lit up his face. “Don’t expect ya to say it. Never did.”

 

_ I love you.  _

 

Ichigo wasn’t sure if everything or nothing had changed. 

 

Grimmjow was more loyal than he should be, he did things he wouldn’t expect of anyone, and he did them willingly. Ichigo shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. He didn’t deserve it, but Grimmjow did whatever the fuck he wanted, there was no sense telling him no. Not when those three words sank into his heart and filled him with warmth,

 

Grimmjow said, “I don't think I've ever known anyone as strong as you before. You must have felt my envy.”

 

Ichigo frowned, his expression shifting into a grimace. “I thought it was hate.”

 

“They feel a lot alike, don't they,” Grimmjow mused, and Ichigo realized he was talking about him. Grimmjow thought he hated him. 

 

That realization changed Ichigo’s perspective. “And you still…”  _ loved me _ . He supposed it wasn’t something Grimmjow could control anymore than he could. Even when he saw hatred and fear in the eyes of his friends, he never stopped loving them, it just hurt more.

 

Grimmjow carried on as if he hadn't stopped. “You made me stronger and stronger but  _ you… _ you've always been something else. You think I didn't want what you had so badly that I wanted to eat you alive, tear your heart out and devour you. I did, I wanted to hurt you, kill you,  _ destroy _ you...I don't know when I stopped wanting that.”

 

This was more like what Ichigo wanted to hear, but he wasn't sure why it had changed either.

 

“The only thing I want from you, Kurosaki, is you. God that sounds pathetic.”

 

Grimmjow looked away in sudden shame, and Ichigo reached out without thinking to grab his chin, forcing the arrancar to look at him. Ichigo said, “I don't know how you can stand it, but if you let me be selfish, I'm taking it, I don't think I'm strong enough to resist.”

 

Grimmjow's brows scrunched together and he said, “Why are you apologizing for that, I told you to take it. You're strong, Kurosaki. I don't know how you're not raving mad already, everyone's got a weakness, I'm not gonna use yours against you.”

 

Grimmjow  _ was _ a weakness, a big one, both when it came to his sanity and his heart. Somehow it didn’t bother Grimmjow to let Ichigo violate all the trust he’d ever given him.

 

“How can you trust me when I use your weakness against you?”

 

“Dunno, Kurosaki. You ask too many questions. You still jealous?”

 

Ichigo moved his hand to Grimmjow's throat, gently squeezing, and Grimmjow didn't react, at least, not in the way he should have. “Yes,” Ichigo said. “But it's better.”

 

“Good, cause I haven't got anything else to give you.” As if he were making sacrifices to some God, and from the look in Grimmjow's eyes, that was close to the truth.

 

Ichigo said, “I'd say I don't want anything from you, but I'd be lying.”

 

The tone in Grimmjow’s voice was somehow annoyed and sad. “Yer allowed to be selfish, Kurosaki.” 

 

But like that? Ichigo didn't think that was right, yet Grimmjow refused to judge him. 

 

Removing his hand, Ichigo reached down, gently smoothing his hand along the rim of the void in his belly. Grimmjow tensed,  his hands tightening on his own shihakusho in an effort to hold himself back. When no pain came, he let out a sigh, watching Ichigo nervously. 

 

Ichigo said, “I'm sorry.”

 

“I told you  _ I get it, _ ” Grimmjow growled, “Destroy the things you don’t deserve? Been there, done that.”

 

That was true, wasn’t it? If anyone understood his stupid, fucked up logic, it was Grimmjow. Ichigo’s eyes narrowed, carefully smoothing his fingers along the edge of his hollow hole. “Okay...I’m still sorry.”

 

That apology came to him easier than he might have expected, and the honestly and gentle touch was too much for Grimmjow to face. The arrancar took his wrist and pulled his hand away. “Fine.” Eyeing Ichigo’s proximity, Grimmjow asked, “Did those Soul Society clowns feel all of that.”

 

Ichigo sighed and said, “Probably.”

 

Grimmjow’s  usual scowl returned, but softened by something Ichigo couldn’t name. “That sucks.”

 

A small smile turned up the corner of Ichigo’s mouth, but he was too emotionally exhausted for it to remain. “It is what it is. Despite your reasons, I...needed calling out.” Ichigo stood, shifting Grimmjow’s grip from his wrist to his hand, and pulled him up to stand. The arrancar was unsteady on his feet, which was proof enough of Ichigo’s mistake.

 

Grimmjow warned, “Don’t you dare feel guilty.”

 

“I’m trying not to,” Ichigo said, then gave him a more honest answer. “Despite whatever satisfaction I got from that, I don’t like seeing you weak.”

 

Leveling a hard stare at Ichigo, Grimmjow chose to dance around the subject. “Implying I’m strong.”

 

“Stop comparing yourself to me,” Ichigo said, “That’s not fair.”

 

“Hard not to,” Grimmjow shrugged. He leaned against the wall and let out a long, tired sigh. “I’ll take that nap now.”

 

Ichigo reached for him, pulling him off the wall by the  jacket, and waited for some nonverbal sign he was ready to go back to the room, to  face a stranger that had witnesses one side of a very personal conversation. It didn’t seem like  either of them were ready for it, but rather than never face it and die of embarrassment, life carried on.

 

Moments passed, then Grimmjow gave him a small nod, and Ichigo brought them both back into the room through la sangre. Rukia jumped, startled by their sudden appearance, and looked from the growing bruise on Grimmjow’s throat, to Ichigo. Ichigo noticed her eyes were wet, and the instant he noticed, an embarrassed blush stained her cheeks. She didn’t say anything, but the questions she wouldn’t ask hung in the air unanswered. 

 

Ichigo wasn’t sure why she was crying, if it was because of him or for him, but he wasn’t going to ask, his pride had  taken enough of a beating that night,

 

“Sorry, Rukia.” Grimmjow pulled away from his grip and Rukia’s questioning gaze to throw himself down on the other bed, curling up with his back to her. Ichigo saw the uncomfortable tension in his shoulders, and crossed the room to sit on the bed between him and Rukia. Most, if not all of that tension immediately faded.

 

In some sick way, that pleased Ichigo’s instincts; Grimmjow was his to destroy, to protect, and his conduit knew that. With Ichigo there, Grimmjow was safe, until he decided he shouldn’t be. On the other hand, the human part of his heart thrilled at the knowledge that Grimmjow trusted him, and now he knew why.

 

Grimmjow folded his arm under his mask, eyes on the wall, and Ichigo felt compelled to touch. He reached for his throat again, fingertips brushing the tense, bruising skin. He had no intention of healing that, it was proof Grimmjow wanted, and proof of all the things Ichigo wanted to deny he felt. No more hiding. 

 

Blue eyes snapped up to meet his, curious, but whatever Grimmjow saw there made him blush and close his eyes. “Leave me alone, I’m sleeping.”

 

Drawing his hand back, Ichigo folded his arms and leaned against the wall, casting a look over to Rukia. “Go back to sleep.” Ichigo lined his voice with enough authority to infuse his lack of desire to talk about anything that just occured, both for his own sake and Grimmjow’s. He liked her as a friend, but he wasn’t even done working out what just happened himself. 

 

Rukia stared at him a long moment, then swiped her fingers over her cheek, and laid down with her back to him, lacing his fingers over the back of her neck. Not so comfortable around him anymore, that was clear. That was fine, even if it hurt. He was being honest, that’s what mattered to Grimmjow, so that’s what mattered to him.

 

Ichigo looked around the room, the silence uncomfortable for all of them, but it still didn’t take long for Grimmjow to  slip into unconsciousness. His breathing leveled and his usual scowl softened into a small frown. Eventually, Rukia fell asleep too, and Ichigo was left to his thoughts,  but not alone.

 

Stepping into his inner world, Ichigo faced his hollow with a heart heavy with shame. “I was going to do something really stupid.”

 

Zangetsu watched him without judgement, merely frustration. “Not in your right mind these days, I can’t blame you.”

 

“That was all me, I wanted to kill him.”

 

Zangetsu let out a breath, looking more tired than Ichigo had  ever known. “No King, it isn’t. You’re an angry fucker, but  _ you _ wouldn’t kill him.”

 

“I wanted to.”

 

Zangetsu stepped into sonido, stopping with his hand on his chest, just above the hole that cut straight through him. “Look around you.”

 

Ichigo followed his line of sight to his feet, the cracked concrete of his sinking inner world stopping him short. The concrete was seeping black, spreading from the fractures and staining his inner world with darkness so similar to the sand slowly consuming him.

 

Ichigo sighed, understanding dampening his heart. “It was only a matter of time.”

 

If it was sinking so deep he couldn’t feel the difference, it was no wonder he thought those impulses were his own.  And yet Grimmjow accepted him anyway. “What a fucking idiot,” Ichigo muttered. He ran his hands over his face and grit his teeth. “I’m not ready for this, Zangetsu.”

 

Zangetsu pulled Ichigo’s hands away, watching him steadily. “I ain’t ever gonna forget who you were. Never, King.”

 

Were. He was inherently changed, and it was only getting worse. Ichigo gave his hollow an unsteady smile. “Don’t let me hurt him.”

 

Zangetsu looked insulted. “Ya don’t have to ask, King.”

 

\--- xxx ---

  
  
  


**Current Espada Ranking**

King Strawberry

Fraccion: Grimmjow, Nelliel

 

0 - Harribel

1 - Ulquiorra

2 - Starrk & Lilynette

3 - Grimmjow

4 - Zommari

5 - Szayelaporro Granz

6 - Shawlong

7 - Cyan, Mila Rose, Apacci (Quimera Parca: Ayon)

8 - Yylfordt Granz

9 - Edrad Liones

10 - Pesche

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhh so it’s gay now, sorry if you’re not into it, but it’s just a lot of gay feels everywhere. I won't spoil you on things, but it's not gonna get explicit.


	4. Hollow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed the tags again, do check them IM SORRY/ Maybe this makes up for the sad things last chapter. Also idk if this needs more tagging cause honestly it's just more of the same from Zenith, but gayer. If anyone feels I should add a tag cause they were surprised, let me know~

 

 

\--- xxx ---

 

**Grimmjow**

 

Waking up with his face pressed against the side of Kurosaki’s leg was, well, embarrassing. He blinked at the torn and tattered shihakusho, blurry when it was smashed up against his face. He’d slept near Kurosaki before, but not right next to him. This was one step short of cuddling. 

 

Then he remembered what he’d said.  _ Hell _ , he’d said things. 

 

He flushed and looked up, straight into Kurosaki’s eyes. Sharp, golden eyes stared back, still softened by guilt, the stark pinpoints that betrayed die Konigin burning in his eyes like stars. He hadn't expected Kurosaki to be watching him, he looked like he hadn’t slept or moved since he’d last seen him, but given who and what he was, that was likely exactly what happened. For a long moment, Grimmjow just stared, pinned by the intensity there, then remembered they weren't alone.

 

Sitting upright, his entire existence screamed in protest, but the discomfort was for nothing; The other bed was empty.

 

Kurosaki hadn't moved, arms folded and head resting against the wall, but he zeroed in on his weakness with a small frown. “She woke up a little bit ago and left, but she said she would be back later.”

 

Something about his tone made Grimmjow study him closer, but he let it slide. “That uncomfortable, huh?”

 

Kurosaki only sighed, his eyes locked on the wrinkled and mussed comforter. 

 

Grimmjow asked, “Did you sleep?”

 

“No.” And those eyes were back on him, looking into him and through him, as if he had no secrets left to hide, as if Kurosaki could look straight into his thoughts. But he knew that wasn't true. The hybrid was uncomfortably mortal, his appearance and power had fooled Grimmjow as well as anyone else, and that still stung. 

 

Grimmjow had nothing but further proof of this when Kurosaki's expression faltered, trying to smother the guilt that stabbed his heart. “I cracked your mask.”

 

Hand shooting up to the jawbone, Grimmjow traced the ridges of teeth, the flat of the curves, and his breath caught when his fingers hit a hairline fracture, as if his hand had just sunk into a raw and festering wound. His fingers curled, cringing back with a hiss, and he brushed it off. “I guess you did.”

 

“You didn’t  _ notice _ .” Kurosaki’s voice was laden with such heavy disappointment, Grimmjow wasn’t sure he could place why, until he felt the sudden depth of Kurosaki’s guilt. He hadn’t noticed his mask was cracked, not among all the other pain he’d been swamped in, and the ‘why’ suddenly wasn’t so elusive.

 

Grimmjow reached out to grab the front of Kurosaki’s shihakusho, pulling him from the wall so they were nearly nose to nose. “I asked for this, you don’t get to feel guilty.”

 

Kurosaki scoffed, the self hatred in his voice as evident as the pain in his heart. “It’s too late for that.” His eyes darkened, and he actually leaned closer. “I’m fixing it.”

 

Grimmjow shivered and his grip loosened. “It can wait.” To be honest, his soul already ached, he wasn’t sure he could handle it, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to say that aloud. 

 

Kurosaki slowly peeled Grimmjow’s hand from his shihakusho, calloused fingers tracing strained tendons and knuckles was deliberate care. Grimmjow’s grip loosened at Kurosaki’s gentle prodding, the hybrid’s hand squeezing his palm, careful not to dig his claws into flesh. His hand slipped down to his wrist, eyes flicking down to watch his own progress. Grimmjow swallowed, anger forgotten, and noticed the hybrid was intentionally moving slow, studying him as if he had never seen him before, which he probably hadn’t. 

 

Kurosaki’s thumb claw traced a vein, depressing his skin, but not slicing flesh, testing his own control. The hybrid’s brows furrowed, and his heart was a chaotic mess; Grimmjow couldn’t read the thoughts behind those stormy eyes any more than he could understand his soul, and it made him nervous. 

 

Without warning, Kurosaki shifted his grip to ensnare his wrist, and in a motion too quick to track, Grimmjow found his back flattened to the bed, both of his wrists held down by Kurosaki’s weight. His heart hammered in newfound panic, but Kurosaki still appeared calm. His guilt had faded to the background, replaced with something intensely determined. The hybrid always looked like that when he had a goal; shoving his fears and worries aside in unhealthy avoidance to focus on the task at hand.

 

Kurosaki’s hair slipped over his shoulder in a cascade of black, blocking the light from the balcony and making this much more intimate than Grimmjow was prepared to handle. A furious blush burned his face, wondering how the hell the hybrid couldn’t be aware of what he was doing. “Kurosaki…” But he didn’t know what to say.

 

“You still feel shit because of the crack in your mask. If I wait to fix it, you’ll just get weaker like Pesche, and Neliel.” The hybrid’s words didn’t match his actions. His tone was all business, but his hands were...gentle, his palms sliding up along his wrists to hold his hands. It was a strange contradiction, and Kurosaki didn’t seem like he wanted to acknowledge it, so Grimmjow pretended not to notice.

 

Regardless of Kurosaki’s proximity, he was genuinely nervous about what Kurosaki was suggesting. It was about as sexy as telling someone telling him they were about to rip his teeth out by the roots with their bare hands; he was scared, and from the look on Kurosaki’s face, he knew that. “I don’t think-” Grimmjow started.

 

“You’re strong enough,” Kurosaki interrupted. “I put a lot of strain on you, I did a lot of damage, but I won’t tear you apart.” Kurosaki’s expression caved in on itself. “That isn’t what I want.” 

 

Grimmjow looked at something else, he didn’t want to see that look in his eyes. So he stared at the wall instead, studying long dried drips of paint and dusty corners. He supposed he couldn’t understand Kurosaki. Mortal or not, he had the power of a God,  _ many _ Gods, and it would only take a bit of pressure, a lapse in judgement, and Grimmjow would be dead. Hell, everyone could be dead. Kurosaki had applied more pressure than he’d intended, with devastating results, and Grimmjow didn’t think he couldn’t blame him for his guilt.

 

Kurosaki’s kitten analogy came to mind, and beyond his personal disgust at comparing himself to a kitten, it was apt. He was more fragile than he was willing to accept.

 

A scowl crossed Grimmjow’s face, aware this was going to be extremely unpleasant. He snapped, “Fine, just get it over with.”

 

“Look at me.”

 

Grimmjow’s inside’s twisted at the tone of Kurosaki’s voice, both rebelling by the authority woven through it, and fascinated by it. He looked back up at the hybrid, disarmed by the possessive ferocity he saw there. Kurosaki moved his hands away, holding his weight up by one arm to reach for Grimmjow’s mask. He was very careful, more so than he needed to be, but Grimmjow understood why, and for once, he couldn’t chastise him for it.

 

His ego took a beating over it, but Grimmjow knew he really was that weak. He pretended he wasn’t, but the fact remained that the person pinning him to that bed was a demigod. A  _ wrathful _ demigod, masquerading as a mortal as much as bound by it. 

 

Sometimes Grimmjow was fooled, but that happened less and less. He moved with too much fluid grace, he didn’t blink, and he didn’t waver. The burden of exhaustion didn’t weigh on him, not anymore. He was too alive, in a way that had nothing to do with living, yet he wasn’t dead. He was something else.

 

And this demigod was  _ looking _ at him.

 

Kurosaki’s voice broke the silence, startling Grimmjow. “This is going to hurt. A lot.” Ichigo settled his weight down on Grimmjow’s hips, pinning him in place, and held him still by the mask.

 

That was proximity Grimmjow didn’t have the mental fortitude to unpack, not in the moment. He’d seen Pesche after Kurosaki fixed his mask, and he wasn’t envious. “Nice pep talk, Kurosaki.”

 

A smile touched Kurosaki’s face, but it didn’t linger. “Now shut up, or you’ll bite your tongue.”

 

It just got better and better.

 

The pain hit, and Kurosaki wasn’t fucking around, it  _ hurt _ . Back arching off the bed like he was electrocuted, Grimmjow’s hands shot up to claw at the hand on his mask. It felt like Kurosaki had his hand  _ inside _ his chest, wringing the blood out of his heart. He wouldn’t stop and he couldn’t breathe, and it didn’t feel like it would ever end. 

 

There was just pain, and more pain, his thoughts stuttering over one word.  **STOP** .

 

And like a dislocated shoulder snapping back into place, it suddenly did stop. 

 

Grimmjow fell back, limp, and gasped for breath. All of his muscles buzzed with the afterburn of trauma that felt dreamlike and surreal. It wasn’t real pain, physically he was fine, but his soul felt frail. One hard shove and he would shatter. 

 

Kurosaki moved his hand, Grimmjow sensed the dull and aching sensation of fingers tracing the edges of his mask. That hand shifted to his face, Kurosaki’s voice low, like he was calming a frightened animal. “You’re okay.” 

 

Rough fingers traced beneath his eye, wet and warm. Grimmjow blinked blearily up at Kurosaki and panted, “Shit, am I crying?” 

 

Kurosaki’s touch grew more bold, the back of his fingers swiping away whatever evidence of those tears remained. He said, “I just put your heart back together. If you weren’t crying, I’d be worried, but if it makes you feel better, it’s also sweat.”

 

“Gross,” Grimmjow sighed, letting his eyes slip closed. He was exhausted all over again, but his soul didn’t ache, which he could only attribute to Kurosaki’s handiwork. He muttered, “Fucking embarrassing.”

 

When the hybrid drew his hand away, Grimmjow felt the bed sink near his shoulder, meaning Kurosaki was hovering right over him. The hybrid said dismissively, “I’ve seen worse.” 

 

Grimmjow squinted up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“What do you think it means?”

 

Oh. Grimmjow was too exhausted to feel embarrassed, he merely closed his eyes. “God, I didn’t take you for a voyeur.”

 

“It isn’t like I did it on purpose.”

 

Interesting, but not enough to question him.

 

Minutes passed, and he was still breathing heavily, but he could only assume the reason Kurosaki didn’t ask how he was holding up, was because he knew exactly how he was feeling. Grimmjow thought he should feel like his space was invaded, but he was honestly too tired to care. Looking back up at the hybrid, Grimmjow asked, “How long are you gonna hover like that?”

 

“As long as I want.” Kurosaki said.

 

That was...a blunt answer, and Grimmjow didn’t know where to take it. Kurosaki was just watching him, and if he wasn’t already used to this, he might have called it creepy. As it was, Kurosaki was a creepy fucker, it wasn’t news. As nice as it was to lie in relative silence, Grimmjow changed the subject. “Why did the girl leave?”

 

“Uncomfortable.”

 

Not a lie but not the truth. “There’s more than that.”

 

Kurosaki frowned, annoyed he was being called out. Grimmjow was silent in his insistence, and Kurosaki finally caved, looking away. “You were...upset...sleeping. I asked her to leave.”

 

Grimmjow’s eyes widened, a mortified feeling of panic settling into his veins like ice. God, he had a nightmare in front of a shinigami? A  _ stranger _ ? He felt like he was going to be sick. Showing as much weakness as he had was almost too much, but Kurosaki intervened and he still didn’t wake up? How wrecked was he if he didn’t wake up?

 

Sensing his panic as much as witnessing it, Kurosaki looked back and insisted, “Hey, relax. It wasn't a nightmare it was just...discomfort.”

 

“Relax?” He didn’t know how to do that, this wasn’t a situation he’d ever had to confront. How could he face her after that? She wasn’t supposed to see that, no one was.

 

Kurosaki struggled to keep up with his thoughts, and his guess was pretty close. “Rukia’s opinion of you isn’t any less, Grimmjow.”  

 

He didn’t give a damn what she thought of him, it was the very fact she saw something he desperately didn’t want to be real. Grimmjow grit his teeth and shoved, “Get off.” Fighting him only made the situation worse, Ichigo took his wrists and pinned him again, but this time it wasn’t gentle. “ _ Kurosaki _ ,” Grimmjow hissed.

 

“It’s her opinion of  _ me _ that’s changed, Grimmjow.”

 

Grimmjow paused, because it was a welcome distraction. “I don’t get it,” he snarled. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

 

“I put your soul under stress, Rukia knows what that’s like; she lived with the Hogyoku in her soul for months, she faced the Sokyoku, she  _ knows _ what I did to you, and she knows I hurt you.” Kurosaki’s voice lost strength by the end, and Grimmjow still squirmed to get free. 

 

Grimmjow narrowed his eyes and twisted, but Kurosaki's grip tightened. He didn't want the hybrid to see his panic, he didn't want to feel shame, but Kurosaki wouldn't let him run. “So she pities me? She shouldn't have seen that, any of it.” He was talking about everything, not just a moment of weakness. He didn’t want it to bother him, but it did. Kurosaki was allowed to invade his privacy, but everyone else? No.

 

“I know,” Kurosaki said. “I know, Grimmjow. But she did, and she knows too. She won't bring it up. She'll let it slide, as she does. It's  _ me _ she's upset with.”

 

Through his shame, Grimmjow was starting to wrap his mind around what Kurosaki was saying. “What right does she have to judge you?”

 

“I can’t control how she feels, Grimmjow, and I can’t control how you feel either.”

 

“You still want me to hate you?” The look in Kurosaki’s eyes was answer enough. The hybrid was defeated on that front, he couldn’t change Grimmjow’s mind, but he wanted to, and frankly witnessing so much self loathing was sickening.

 

Grimmjow yanked to free himself, and this time Kurosaki let him pull a hand free, but only one. Grimmjow reached straight for the chasm in Kurosaki’s chest.

 

He pushed into his chest, the cold abyss drawing a gasp of pain from Kurosaki. “ _ Now _ we’re even.” Grimmjow growled.

 

Kurosaki let out a tight chuckle, his face as pained as the ache in his soul.  “We’ll never be even, Grimmjow.”

 

Expression twisting, Grimmjow shouted, “ _ I _ say we're even! She gets no right to judge, this is between you and me, Kurosaki.”

 

“You, me...and the Gotei 13,” Kurosaki scoffed.

 

“Fine, fuck what they think!”

 

Kurosaki grimaced under Grimmjow's hand and spoke through clenched teeth. “Kinda hypocritical to tell me not to care when you do.”

 

“What the fuck is it you say? As I say, not as I do, Kurosaki.” 

 

Amusement sparkled in his eyes, but it was wiped out by loathing. “They're right to judge me, though.”

 

Grimmjow briefly forgot about escape and growled, “Fuck what they think.”

 

Kurosaki gave him a gently chiding look. “ _ I _ judge me.”

 

“I know, you stupid fuck, _ I know _ !” He pushed his hand deeper into Kurosaki's chest, encountering a shocking amount of resistance. Shocking, because he’d never tried this nor encountered it before, yet it made sense. Kurosaki's soul was dense, more so than should be possible, but he was also host to God's; it was a miracle they hadn't bitten his hand off for daring to be so bold.

 

The hybrid’s face twisted in anguish, but there was a sharp light of satisfaction in his eyes. This was what the sick fuck wanted, but he was still too powerful for even this to hurt him. 

 

Grimmjow’s lip curled in a snarl, tone incredulous and full of a disgust he didn’t actually feel. “You  _ can’t  _ enjoy this?”

 

Kurosaki was breathless, searching his face for a reaction. “I might.”

 

“You think you deserve it,” Grimmjow said. “You think you deserve worse.” 

 

Grimmjow tried to pull his hand back, irritated he was giving Kurosaki exactly what he wanted, but the hybrid caught him by the wrist, not letting him back down. “Don't I?” 

 

Grimmjow ground his teeth in rage and growled, “Doing the God thing again. Who are you to judge what you do or don't deserve?” He demanded, “Let go and get off me!” 

 

After a brief moment of internal conflict, Kurosaki's grip slackened and Grimmjow jerked his hand free, numb from his fingertips to his wrist. His hand was uncomfortably cold, joints stiff and protesting as he curled his hand into a fist.

 

Grimmjow sat up, grabbing Kurosaki by the face to throw him down to his back. He knew Kurosaki would let him, the stupid asshole would let him skewer him with Pantera if that’s what he wanted to do. Panting in exertion, Grimmjow cursed his weakness. Temporary, maybe, but it was just a reminder of his shortcomings. 

 

Grimmjow settled back on Kurosaki’s lap, feeling strange to be the one on top him, for once, even if he’d asked for it. Ignoring the connotations behind that, his grip on Kurosaki’s face loosened, until it was far from violent. It was different to touch without the intent to harm, and neither of them seemed entirely comfortable with it.

 

Kurosaki just watched him, warm breath from his nose humid as it ghosted along the back of Grimmjow’s hand. The hybrid was breathing hard, and Grimmjow didn’t think it had anything to do with the abuse. “You want me to hurt you?” No response, but the look in Kurosaki’s eyes was tumultuous and dark. Grimmjow’s heart pounded, relaxing his hand, fingers smoothing along his cheek as his hand migrated to his throat. Kurosaki swallowed, he felt the bob of his throat against his palm and the tensing of corded muscle. Grimmjow marveled at that for a moment. For someone so powerful to let him so close, with a desire Grimmjow didn’t think he could even fulfill, was exhilarating. 

 

Finally, Grimmjow spoke, his voice thicker than he recognized. “I don’t think I can.” He wasn’t sure if he meant that literally or not, but the longer the words hung in the air, the more he realized it was a bit of both.

 

Kurosaki raised a hand, catching Grimmjow’s attention. The hybrid reached for Pantera, fingers closing around the handle. He stilled, silently asking permission, and Grimmjow made no move to stop him. Sliding the sword from the sheath with a slow slide of metal, Kurosaki lifted and studied the blade, then reached up to touch, the pads of his fingers smoothing along the steel of his weapon. Darkness swarmed over the blade in a thin layer, so Pantera looked matte black and he felt the sticky cling of la sangre, like smoke in his lungs. 

 

Turning the sword around in his hands, Kurosaki offered it hilt first back to him. ”Now try.”

 

“Kuros-”

 

“ _ Try _ ,” Kurosaki whispered. Grimmjow’s face twisted, distraught. Kurosaki was practically begging, and for something Grimmjow wasn’t sure he wanted to do. No, that wasn’t true, Grimmjow just didn’t want to cave to his demands; Kurosaki always got what he wanted. At least from him. 

 

Turning Pantera over in his hand, Grimmjow muttered, “You’re such a selfish bastard.”

 

To his surprise, Kurosaki agreed. “Yeah.”

 

Grimmjow added for good measure, “And fucked in the head.”

 

“Seems like it,” Kurosaki agreed again.

 

Letting out a disapproving grunt, Grimmjow turned his sword over in his palm, not having thought he would be in this position. Not even close. 

 

Stabbing his sword through Kurosaki’s hollow hole, the hybrid sucked in a desperate breath, the discomfort mirrored through Alteza. Grimmjow grit his teeth, leaning on his sword, but encountering so much less resistance than before. The edge of his sword touched the black void of his hollow hole, pressing against flesh.

 

Kurosaki grit his teeth, claws gripping and shredding the comforter beneath him, but there was gratitude in his eyes, the crazy fuck.

 

Too many emotions to grapple with swam in his chest, fighting over his heart. There was a certain thrill to this, to making a demigod cringe in pain, the same demigod that stole his future, his soul...and his heart. And that was exactly the reason it hurt; he couldn’t imagine a future without him.  He didn’t want him to die, he didn’t want him to change. He could admit that was stupid and selfish to want to keep this broken and angry version of Kurosaki, but he loved him, even his painfully self destructive tendencies. “God, Kurosaki, does this really help?”

 

“I dunno, but I want it,” his eyes flashed with something hungry and violent. “The same way I want to tear you apart _. I want it _ .”

 

Grimmjow lessened  the pressure on the blade, uncertain, and Kurosaki bared his teeth. “Don't stop.”

 

“If  _ I _ want to stop?” Grimmjow asked. His grip on his sword was damp with sweat,  readjusting his grip while he fished for an excuse. “We're even Kurosaki.”

 

“I don't care.” Kurosaki's eyes darkened further. “You told me to be selfish.  _ I'm being selfish _ .”

 

He had said that, and the look in in the hybrid’s eyes was far from bad. No, it was something he’d never even seen before. Grimmjow put his weight behind the sword, and to his shock, whatever Kurosaki had done to Pantera, he drew blood. His stomach twisted in morbid fascination, eyes tracking the welling red blood as it spilled over the rim of the hole in his chest, dripping down the blade to soak the sheets. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d drawn blood from Kurosaki, and even if it was cheating, it was mesmerizing. Grimmjow said, “You can’t  _ like _ this.”

 

Kurosaki raised a hand, covering Grimmjow’s hand on the hilt with one that trembled. His grip on his hand squeezed gently, reassuringly. “I like it. It hurts,” He let out a breathless laugh, “It hurts _ a lot _ , but it isn’t Alteza, or die Konigin, or Sunyata, it’s you.”

 

Grimmjow looked pointedly at his sword, at the inky dark of la sangre spread over the blade, and Kurosaki let out a breathless chuckle. “I’ll work with what I’ve got.”

 

A grimace locked on his face, Grimmjow couldn’t take his eyes from the blood, and he couldn’t ignore the widening pit in his stomach. “I can’t do this.”

 

Kurosaki chided, “If you didn’t want to, we wouldn’t be here.”

 

“That’s a load of shit,” Grimmjow snarled, yet he didn’t pull the sword away, and Kurosaki’s hand on his didn’t pressure him to do anything, he simply held him.

 

“You have a confusing heart, Grimmjow, but you like it.” Kurosaki struggled to smile through a gasp. “It's...what's the word?”

 

An echo of Kurosaki's voice spoke from behind him. “Cathartic.” Grimmjow's head whipped around and he found himself face to face with Zangetsu, stopping himself short before he stabbed himself with an angled horn.

 

Grimmjow hissed, “Watch it with those.”

 

Zangetsu ignored him, pressing a palm to his back, just over his heart. “Did he tell you to stop?”

 

The chiding amusement in his voice made him bristle, defensive, but it also cast a shiver over his shoulders he hadn’t ever felt before. It wasn’t fear, not entirely. “You can't be okay with this.”

 

Zangetsu leaned his weight against his Grimmjow’s back, pressuring him forward, and reached around him for Pantera, his hand replacing Kurosaki's. Grimmjow’s heart pounded, looking from the hollow, back down to Kurosaki. With the hybrid trapped and literally impaled beneath him, Grimmjow wondered if he wasn’t reading too far into the situation. Then Zangetsu spoke in his ear, a voice always tinged in malice, now almost playful. “Does it  _ feel _ like he hates this?” 

 

From the depth of his tone and the pressure against his back, Grimmjow knew he wasn’t referring to Alteza. A blush burned on his cheeks and with a shove from Zangetsu, he leaned into the sword. Kurosaki twisted beneath him with a deep groan, one that was too deep and long to be a sound of pain, and his hips  _ moved _ . He felt that, he  _ definitely _ felt it. “For fuck’s sake, you’re a kinky bastard, Kurosaki.”

 

Kurosaki was breathing hard, hair strew around him in careless tangles, and if it wasn’t for the pain, it might have looked compromising. No, it looked really compromising. The hybrid’s brows drew together, eyes narrowed, and he  bit his lip, as if uncertain. “Can’t help it.”

 

That was probably true. Grimmjow blushed a little harder, moving his other hand to Kurosaki’s stomach to brace himself. That was a mistake. Kurosaki flexed, arching up against his hand, and Grimmjow tensed. Beyond physical strength, he had a direct connection to the ocean of reiryoku at Kurosaki’s disposal. It was like feeling a behemoth stir beneath his hand, and he let out a pained sound not unlike a whimper.

 

Kurosaki was there, right beneath his hand, and he was giving him so much more power than he should.

 

Instead of face that, Grimmjow glanced back at Zangetsu and demanded, “And what the fuck are  _ you _ doing here?”

 

“First of all, rude. King was losing his nerve, frankly,  so were you. I thought I’d give you a push.”

 

Grimmjow eyed him, as well as he could when the hollow kept to his back, but he had to wonder what Zangetsu meant. Nerve for what? Grimmjow ignored that train of thought and turned back to Kurosaki, sliding his hand on his stomach higher. His shihakusho bunched under the push of his palm, but the edge of his hollow hole was bare. 

 

His fingertips brushed the rim, and Kurosaki stopped. He stopped moving, breathing, the hybrid only watched, breath suspended until his fingers retreated from the singed edge. Kurosaki collapsed onto the bed, letting out a long sigh, and Grimmjow had to pause. He traced the rim again, and Kurosaki  _ reacted _ . It was a punch in the gut to feel. Kurosaki needed more, denying it almost felt cruel. 

 

Grimmjow had never felt like he had control until that moment, and from the hazed and fearful look in Kurosaki’s eyes, the feeling was mutual.

 

Zangetsu's hand disappeared from the sword, but he lingered behind him, close enough to intervene, yet it didn't give him the feeling of being watched that he might have expected. 

 

Grimmjow smoothed his fingers over the edge of his hollow hole, tugging and clawing the edge. Kurosaki made a sound not unlike a whine. The stress he felt from Kurosaki was something akin to refusing to scratch an itch. Grimmjow watched, fascinated, and murmured, “If you wanted foreplay, you could have asked.”

 

Kurosaki's expression twisted and he admitted, “I don't know what I want.”

 

And why would he? Grimmjow froze, remembering something vitally important; Kurosaki was  _ young _ . Trapped in a war since he was a teenager, none of this would have been pressing. It wasn't like Grimmjow was rolling in experience after a few decades cannibalizing his kin, but he remembered his life, and Kurosaki had been right. He remembered better things, a life with people that mattered.

 

Grimmjow was fragile under the will of this demigod, but the fear in Kurosaki's eyes suddenly made sense to him. He had the hybrid's heart, and it was power he hadn't realized he'd had, not to this extent. 

 

“You want me to hurt you…” Grimmjow parroted. That was the closest thing to a request he'd gotten. Grimmjow pulled the sword from his chest and Kurosaki fell back on the bed with a disappointed sigh. “Relax Kurosaki, I’m doing what you want.” Tossing his sword away, Grimmjow held up his hand in Kurosaki’s face. “Do whatever you did to Pantera.”

 

The hybrid blinked, and warned, “It’ll hurt.”

 

“I don’t give a shit.”

 

Frowning, Kurosaki took his hand in his own, his thumb pressed to his palm. La sangre licked and crawled over his skin, but now he saw lines of light streaking over the back of his hand. It stung, burning in a way he recognized. “Die Konigin? Is this all of them?”

 

“Why do you think it hurt me so easily?” Kurosaki asked.

 

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

 

A nervous smile spread across Ichigo’s face. “It’s getting easier.” 

 

That was better than loathing, Grimmjow could live with that. He leaned over Kurosaki, and he hesitated. This time felt different. This time he knew exactly what he was doing, he wanted to do it, and Kurosaki was anticipating it. Kurosaki’s eyes swarmed with emotion Grimmjow couldn’t name or place, but nothing in his eyes suggested he should stop. Grimmjow licked his lips, and pressed his entire palm down into his chest. There was barely resistance, but from the subtle roll of Kurosaki’s hips, he definitely felt it, the sheer sensation overwhelming even second hand. 

 

His palm pressed down to the hot blood dampening the comforter, the cut he’d made with Pantera still freely oozing blood. His arm was clean through his chest, it was as invasive as he could possibly be, but Kurosaki’s reaction was far from negative.

 

From the way he moved, Grimmjow might as well have his hand around Kurosaki's heart. The hybrid lifted his arms over his head and gripped the comforter, startling Grimmjow. He’d just given him the ability to cut right through his hierro, his soul, and he was making a point to be vulnerable. It was as good as begging, but what Kurosaki wanted, Grimmjow couldn’t answer, all of this was new. They didn’t touch, that was just how it was. To let him this close was just about as frightening for Grimmjow as it was for Kurosaki. 

 

Somehow, without moving, Grimmjow invoked nothing but motion from Kurosaki. It was subtle, but compared to the stillness he was used to seeing, it was everything. Kurosaki was breathing hard, something he didn’t even see when they sparred. His hands kneaded the comforter, hiding the tremble Grimmjow knew he’d see should he stop.

 

Physically and emotionally, it was painful and draining, yet the slow and deliberate move of his hips was too obvious to ignore. Kurosaki liked this, a lot. The look in his eyes made Grimmjow feel daring, despite the weight of Zangetsu's hand between his shoulders. Bracing himself on the hand through Kurosaki’s chest, he slid his other hand down, his fingers hooking over a cloth belt. He was stopped by a firm grip and the sharp press of Zangetsu’s horn along the side of his neck. 

 

“No.”

 

Grimmjow swallowed, the action drawing blood from the sharp edge of that horn, and Ichigo said nothing. Now Grimmjow understood why Zangetsu was there at all. Kurosaki really was scared, it was a miracle he’d made it this far. Glancing back, Grimmjow asked, “Chaperoning?”

 

“ _ I’ll  _ stop you,” Zangetsu answered, eyes flicking back down to  Kurosaki. “King will skewer you.”

 

“Fair point,” Grimmjow muttered.  He’d like to think he could read the hybrid, but even  _ Kurosaki _ couldn’t read Kurosaki. His inner hollow knew him best, and if he said no, he was probably seconds away from assault.

 

Once Grimmjow removed his hand, Zangetsu freed his wrist and leaned back, watching with an intensity to rival his wielder. Making peace with the hollow’s presence, Grimmjow turned his attention back to Kurosaki, and the sharp, burning lines racing over his forearm. It was numbed by the sheer density of Kurosaki’s soul, but if he didn’t do something soon, his hand was going to be too numb to listen to him.

 

It had been several long minutes since Kurosaki had said anything at all, but that look in his eyes was the same. In the same way he’d egged Kurosaki on last night, the hybrid now did the same.  _ Do it _ . The demand shone in his eyes like shame and passion and rage, and despite all his bluster, he always gave Kurosaki what he wanted.

 

Twisting his wrist, Grimmjow raked his fingers across the inside of his hollow hole like claws, earning him a stuttered gasp of pain. Grimmjow didn’t let up, doubling over him to get closer, so close that when his hair fell down into his face, it almost brushed Kurosaki’s nose. He was almost too close, putting himself directly between those savage horns. 

 

His strength wasn’t what it could have been, not after fixing his mask, but the layer of energy covering his skin seemed to be enough. Kurosaki writhed, but held himself back with restraint Grimmjow wasn’t sure he’d ever known. His emotions were too wild to understand, so Grimmjow ignored them, at the center of that chaos with the faith he wouldn’t be caught in its path. 

 

Beyond the wants and needs of the hybrid below him, Grimmjow realized this was indeed cathartic. It was cheating, but it still felt  _ earned _ . Watching his gasps of pain, feeling his body tremble and protest, was sickeningly bittersweet. Kurosaki wanted it, but so did he. Grimmjow needed to see proof that he’d done something, that Kurosaki was changed under his hands, and molded into something new.

 

Tearing at Kurosaki’s seams so roughly drew a moan from the other, the volume surprising after he’d been so quiet. Kurosaki looked like he was fighting the urge to react, but Zangetsu didn’t intervene, so Grimmjow saw no reason to stop. He didn’t see cause for caution either. 

 

He was angry at the hybrid, but he couldn't pin down a reason. Angry for dragging him into this, angry for making him give a shit. The hybrid was a honeytrap for the brutal, bloodthirsty side of himself, but he stayed for his strength, his loyalty, and he couldn't fathom leaving.

 

Grimmjow finally dropped his hips down, trapping Kurosaki under his weight and initiating more contact than either of them had ever had outside of a fight. Kurosaki couldn’t keep his hands to himself any longer, his hand suddenly around Grimmjow's throat. The pressure was gentle compared to what Grimmjow was used to, so he ignored it. The subtle threat didn't stop Grimmjow, nor did he relent. He scored the inside of his hollow hole, the hybrid tensing in pain. Grimmjow still had Kurosaki's undivided attention, so he goaded him. “Scared, Kurosaki?”

 

Something like shame shadowed Kurosaki's face, filling Grimmjow with disgust and satisfaction. He did and didn't enjoy that look, the contradiction was unsettling. “Could kill me with a thought, but this is too much? You asked for this.” Kurosaki clenched his jaw and glared, the hand on his throat tightening. Grimmjow knew it wasn't the pain that was the problem here, but he wanted to get under his skin, and he wanted it to hurt.

 

Grimmjow growled, “Come on, Kurosaki, ya don't gotta hold back. Not for this.” The words left his mouth and Grimmjow didn't know what he meant by 'this’.  _ This _ . His hand was  _ inside _ Kurosaki, his pain and pleasure belonged to him as much as his heart. Kurosaki only had eyes for him, could only feel him, and it was addicting to be the center of that immense focus and power. 

 

“Say something,” Grimmjow hissed. 

 

Kurosaki's nerve was shattered, there were no walls between Grimmjow and Kurosaki's confused need, but Grimmjow needed to hear him say something, anything. 

 

Kurosaki sucked in a breath and groaned, “You're talking enough for the both of us.”

 

Grimmjow quirked his head to the side, handing him that. “Hard to guess what you want, Kurosaki.” And if talking prompted some sort of reaction, it was all the better. 

 

Leaning back just enough to get a good look at him, Grimmjow asked, “What's got you so worked up? The pain? My ass? What is it?”

 

Kurosaki's lips parted with a sharp inhale, his hips rocking up at mention of his ass, and his answer was simple. “You.”

 

A shiver of pleasure washed up his arms and broke over his shoulders, his mouth going dry at the intensity of Kurosaki's eyes. Grimmjow shifted his legs so he was no longer sitting on top of Kurosaki, but straddling his thigh, shoving his knee up against his groin. 

 

“Hhhhnnn,  _ Grimmjow _ .” Kurosaki's warning was accompanied by Zangetsu's hand on the back of his neck, claws digging in to the side of his throat.

 

Grimmjow stilled, but didn't take his eyes from Kurosaki. “Relax, I'm not gonna move, Kurosaki.” Confusion danced in the hybrid's eyes, and Grimmjow continued, “You are.”

 

Zangetsu removed his hand, likely at Kurosaki's prompting, and dragged his claws down Grimmjow's back, scoring his jacket and teasing pain that never came. Grimmjow's breath caught, arching away from his hand with gritted teeth.

 

Kurosaki watched, wide eyed, and loosened his grip on his throat to pet from his neck to his sternum. He was being careful, tracing tense muscles with exploratory curiosity. Reaching his chest, Kurosaki let his hand return to the shredded comforter, sinking his claws back through cotton in a desperate bid to keep them there.

 

“Move, Kurosaki,” Grimmjow ordered, tugging the rim of his hollow hole with a punishing grip. 

 

To his continued shock, Kurosaki obeyed, his body rippling in a serpentine wave, grinding up against his thigh. Grimmjow squeezed the sheets, letting out a heady breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, a shaky thing that melted together with the soft whimper Kurosaki let slip.

 

Without meaning to, Grimmjow's hips twitched forward, canines sinking into his lower lip in a panicked need to cease moving, but Kurosaki didn't notice that misstep. Corded muscle bunching, Kurosaki kept moving, humping his leg in slow but deliberate rolls of his hips. The motion was steeped in careful control, a dim haze of fear in Kurosaki's eyes. 

 

The hybrid's lips parted, panting interrupted by the pleasure of friction. The hybrid felt vulnerable, that was obvious; he wasn't blinking, he wasn't relaxing, but he craved it. 

 

Kurosaki murmured, “You want to say something.”

 

Grimmjow licked his lips and took a risk. “Just enjoying myself. Got a demigod humping my leg like a dog.” 

 

Kurosaki's eyes darkened with shame and lust, legs clamping tight around his thigh, hard enough to hurt, but that didn't seem to be Kurosaki's intention, it was his honest reaction. Grimmjow struggled not to react, his muscles bunching in restraint he wasn’t used to using. Kurosaki breathed, hard and deep, and clenching tight around his legs, he suddenly let his knees fall apart again, wider than before. Kurosaki kept moving his hips, this time grinding harder.

 

_ That _ was interesting. Zangetsu hadn't made any move to stop him, so he took that as a sign to continue. “Selfish fucker,” he hissed. “Getting off on using me?”

 

Kurosaki let out a choked groan, hips jerking again. Grimmjow leaned closer and growled, “I belong to you, don't I?”

 

“So what am I? A toy?” He pushed down with his hips, grinding his leg down painfully into his groin. “A pet.”

 

Kurosaki's answer was strangled through a pained moan. “Miiiine.”

 

Grimmjow didn't even think about it, he fell forward, lips clashing against Kurosaki's. His mouth slipped against the hybrid's, tangled in a moan, wet and hot. 

 

Then he was gone.

 

Grimmjow caught himself in the bed, blinking down at the space Kurosaki had just been. He ran. 

 

Kurosaki  _ ran _ . 

 

Far away, someplace Grimmjow couldn't follow even if he tried. Something suffocating and tight wrapped around his heart, his throat tight in pain.

 

“Shit.”

 

Sitting back on his knees, Grimmjow cast his eyes around the room, swiping a hand over his face. He couldn't help but fear he'd crossed a line. It was as good as a bucket of cold water for whatever libido Kurosaki had sparked.

 

Eyes falling to the blood he'd spilled on the sheets, he reached for it, wet and warm on his fingertips. He sat there for a long time, but Kurosaki didn't come back, and he'd shut himself off emotionally, it was like feeling along a wall. 

 

Sunyata. He'd driven him back behind that wall he loathed, that was his fault. His fault. 

 

His fault. 

 

Fuck, that hurt, and there was no Sunyata to take it away. 

 

In a wash of anger, Grimmjow stood, retrieving Pantera from the floor where he'd thrown it. He noticed whatever Kurosaki had done to his sword and hand had receded, his blood wasn't even present on the blade. Likely devoured by la sangre, just like everything else. 

 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Grimmjow balanced the tip of Pantera on the ground, spinning the hilt in his hands. He was restless, his mind overwhelmed with nothing but the hope Kurosaki would come back. 

 

He wasn't sure how much time passed like that, but those events played over and over again in his mind, resisting the urge to lift his hand to his lips. The kiss did it, the one thing he hadn't meant to do. A kiss he couldn't stop thinking about. It was just the most non violent thing he'd ever done as an arrancar.

 

So lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice the shinigami until she turned the door handle. Jumping to his feet, he whirled, Pantera raised in threat, then wondered why Jed done that. She was no threat, not to anything but his desire for solitude. 

 

Rukia stepped into the room, heedless of his wants, and her eyes raked over his sword, fearless, and settled on the blood on the bed. Her eyes snapped to Grimmjow's, demanding, “Where is he?”

 

“Somewhere else. He'll come back when he's ready.” The hybrid never hid from responsibility for long, regardless of his own desires. 

 

Feeling foolish with his weapon drawn and brandished for no damn good reason, Grimmjow sheathed it and sat back on the bed. Rukia stood there long enough that Grimmjow snapped, “Just gonna stand there all day?”

 

“You had a fight?”

 

Eyes snapping to the shinigami, Grimmjow recovered and snarled, “Shut the fuck up.”

 

She studied him, then moved to the other bed, sitting across from him. Her posture was different, she sat much straighter, her hands in her lap. Her presence felt different, distant.

 

“You pissed off at me, or Kurosaki?” Grimmjow asked.

 

She tightened her lips, eyes narrowing in annoyance, then her gaze slipped to his neck, and he remembered that was probably still very bruised. She spoke, voice tight. “Both of you.”

 

“Ain't any of your fuckin’ business,  _ shinigami _ .”

 

“It isn't,” she agreed tightly.

 

They sat, glaring at each other for another long minute before Grimmjow got tired of it and dragged the problem into the light. He growled, “Yer mad at Kurosaki for a stupid fucking reason.”

 

Her eye twitched, hands clenching on her shihakusho. “What would you know about it,  _ arrancar _ .”

 

Grimmjow wasn't in the mood, frankly he wanted to be alone, but leaving the room felt too much like pussying out of a fight. He bared his teeth and snapped, “Don't like that he knocks me around, do you?”

 

“It's wrong!” She blurted.

 

And there it was, the judgement Kurosaki feared, the monster that haunted him from a past no one else remembered. Grimmjow sneered. “And you all wonder why Kurosaki keeps secrets.”

 

“He hurt you.”

 

Shrugging, Grimmjow said, “He does that a lot.”

 

Her face fell, confused. “Why?”

 

“Ask him,” Grimmjow grunted.

 

“He won't tell me.”

 

“Them’s the fuckin breaks.”

 

“You know why.” She glared at him a long moment and demanded, “Tell me.”

 

“Why should I?” He sneered. “We ain't  _ friends _ .”

 

He thought she might have looked a bit hurt, but she hid it well. “I want to try to understand.”

 

Grimmjow watched her, wondering if she was being genuine, and struggled to find a reason to deny her. Kurosaki liked her, the pain on his face at her absence had been real, and the hybrid had been hurt plenty that day. If not for her, he'd swallow his pride and do it for Kurosaki. “You must have noticed how adverse Kurosaki is to touch. He made damn sure none of you knew about his other life for a reason. You know it was bad, but it was  _ shit _ , even by hollow standards.”

 

“He told you?” she asked, enough of a waver in her tone that Grimmjow had to wonder if it wasn't envy. 

 

“He had to tell  _ somebody _ , he was going fucking crazy.”

 

She blanched, remembering that in detail.

 

Grimmjow shrugged, as if that  was enough to disguise the weight of his words. “Pain isn't a stranger to him, neither is rage. He responds with what he knows.”

 

The shinigami’s lips turned down in a disappointed frown. “You don't have to encourage it.”

 

“He's not human, he's not shinigami; even before the Gods he was something different. He's the loneliest goddamn person I've ever seen, and he's barely stable. If I'm too fragile for him, so fucking be it. If he wants to hurt me, the fuck else can I give him?” 

 

Grimmjow snapped his mouth shut, not having meant to make his answer so personal. Rukia looked startled, and Grimmjow considered leaving again. He covered it up before the silence became too uncomfortable to break. “Kurosaki is complicated.”

 

Rukia kept staring at him, long enough that Grimmjow started to fidget. “That answer enough, shinigami?”

 

“You’re saying he can't change.”

 

Casting her a confused look, Grimmjow wondered if she was naive or hopeful, to think Kurosaki hadn't made some sort of progress. “He’s already changed, for the better and the worst. But Kurosaki's still got issues, he's dangerous, and by his logic, better me than you.”

 

Her eyes narrowed, studying him. “You're fine with that?”

 

At first it had been a point of defiance. This overpowered fucker wants him as his fraccion? Fuck that. Then he wanted to use Kurosaki to get stronger, but that rapidly evolved into loyalty, and then something he couldn't even name. Was he fine with being used? Yes. But that wasn't the word he'd use to describe it. It was more like a need. “I fuckin  _ volunteered _ , now back off.”

 

“You really think it helps?”

 

“I don't fucking know, alright?” Grimmjow clenched his jaw, biting back more words. He was getting worked up, she was getting under his skin.

 

She tilted her head, brows furrowing in a glimmer of understanding. “I'm not questioning if you care about him, I know you do.”

 

Grimmjow bared his teeth in distaste, desperately wanting to shut her up. He wasn’t defensive, just pissed off at how invasive she was. “So tell me, shinigami, what’s the point of all of this?” She opened her mouth, indignant, and Grimmjow realized he didn’t give a shit, cutting her off.  “Kurosaki is who he is, he ain't gonna change cause you hate him.”

 

“I don't-”

 

“You didn't see the look on his face.” As hurt as he felt, seeing her face fall in distress gave him a sick twist of satisfaction. “You thought you knew what he was about, you didn't. Is that his fault? Nah, he ain’t responsible for that.” 

 

Grimmjow stood up, prompting her to stand as well, but he still towered over her. “He gets enough shit from everyone else, he doesn’t deserve it from the people he calls  _ friends _ .” She flinched at that word, looking away in guilt, and Grimmjow was relentless. “He’s not what you thought, shinigami. I dunno what’s more of a shame, that he can’t hide from you anymore, or that the truth makes you hate him.” 

 

Silence rang in the space between them, he could feel his blood rushing in his ears. The shinigami wouldn’t look at him. Good. He wanted her to feel like shit, it felt justified and filthy all at the same time. He reached for her, getting a fistfull of the front of her shihakusho, and stopped short. Kurosaki’s hand was around his wrist like he’d never left.

 

Both of them flinched, and Kurosaki swayed back like he hadn’t even realized that might be unsettling. Startling or not, Kurosaki didn’t let go of his wrist, locking eyes, steady and unblinking. With his heart smothered by Sunyata, he looked at him like he looked at anyone else. It was even worse than before, because now Grimmjow knew  _ why _ he did it, and he was the cause.

 

Grimmjow stared back at him, wide eyed, until Kurosaki spoke. “Let her go.”

 

That was an order, one without room for compromise. He came back explicitly to stop him, not for him, and that hurt just as much. Why did Kurosaki go to such lengths for these people? They hybrid gave them  _ everything _ and they did nothing but judge him and hate him. He was losing everything, the hybrid couldn’t even stand to look at his reflection. He looked at the dark swaths of his own hair with such loathing, it turned Grimmjow’s stomach. 

 

But Grimmjow gave him everything in return; his soul, his body, his heart, and Kurosaki  _ still _ ran from him. It ached, but anger was easier than pain. Grimmjow snarled, “If I refuse?”

 

Kurosaki’s emotion hit him in the chest like a ton of bricks. Whatever grip Kurosaki had on Sunyata was suddenly gone. Using his lapse in focus, Kurosaki easily uncurled Grimmjow’s fingers from Rukia’s shihakusho, stepping between the shinigami and Grimmjow like a shield. Rukia started, “Ichi...go.”

 

Kurosaki ignored her, pushing Grimmjow’s hand back against his own chest, until the back of his legs touched the mattress. That cold and distant look in his eyes was nowhere to be found; amber eyes swam with guilt.   
  
Reading silent lips, Grimmjow saw the words Kurosaki tried and failed to speak.  _ I’m sorry.  _ The hybrid swallowed, gathering his nerve, and managed to find the words. “Don’t blame Rukia for my shortcomings.”

 

“What do you know?” Grimmjow hissed. 

 

He moved to pull his hand away, but Kurosaki kept it trapped, ignoring his rage as if it wasn’t there. “I’ve already lied to you, Grimmjow.”  He spoke his name slowly, savoring every letter and syllable of his name. It sent a shiver up Grimmjow’s spine, but he wasn’t going to let himself be lulled in.

 

“Yeah,  _ I get it, _ ”  Grimmjow growled. He leaned back, but Kurosaki didn’t budge. “So fuck off.”

 

“No, you really don’t,” Kurosaki said. Grimmjow inhaled to speak, but Kurosaki’s thumb was on his lower lip, tracing the curve of it, rough and dry, and Grimmjow’s thoughts stuttered to a halt under a touch so gentle. 

 

Kurosaki’s hand shifted lower, clawed fingers raking along his jaw, down along the nape of his neck. He held him, genuine panic in his eyes, but beneath that, he looked undeniably determined. Grimmjow didn’t move, he barely even breathed, uncertain what might spook Kurosaki into fight or flight.

 

So careful of his horns, Kurosaki leaned closer, pressing his forehead to Grimmjow’s. His nose pressed against his cheek, his breath hot against his lips, and Grimmjow’s breath caught in his throat, frozen in anticipation of what he wanted. Kurosaki’s claws dug into the back of his neck, dragging  him closer, and he kissed him. Kurosaki kissed him, soft and careful and disgustingly sweet, something neither of them understood.

 

Grimmjow remembered salty lips, sun-warmed skin, and tangled brown hair. Kurosaki was nothing like that. The gentle press of his lips were reverent, so afraid he would break Grimmjow by pure accident. His lips were pliant, but not so soft, and not so timid. His skin buzzed with reiatsu so dense and powerful, only his instincts were aware of it. This ‘man’ was dangerous; he was violence and judgement and wrath, and he chose  _ him _ , Grimmjow. Nothing but an arrancar.

 

Kurosaki pulled away, so close that when he spoke, his lips brushed his skin. “I always ask too much of you,” His whisper was so quiet, Grimmjow almost didn’t hear him over the rush of blood in his ears and the rise and fall of their breath. “Be patient with me.”

 

A carelessly voiced request, not an order. Grimmjow hissed quietly, “You don’t make it easy.”

 

“I know.”

 

Kurosaki leaned back, but his hand remained on the back of his neck. The hybrid turned and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand relocating to the center of  Grimmjow’s back to fist in his jacket and yank him down to sit beside him. Grimmjow had no qualms about that, but he’d forgotten Rukia was there. 

 

She stared at them both, her hands fisted on his knees, a blush bright on her face. At the very least, her blush matched his own, and it made it a little bit less embarrassing. Kurosaki said,  “Can you work with me, Rukia, or should I find someone else?”

 

Her mouth worked, then snapped shut, staring at Grimmjow in shock. Grimmjow realized that whatever secondhand feelings she was getting from Kurosaki, this hadn’t been it. He felt a little smug, that Kurosaki had ignored her discomfort and his own, for his sake. That was selfish, but fuck if he just didn’t care at the moment. 

 

Kurosaki tried again. “Rukia.”

 

“So...are you…” Her shoulders fell in defeat, her eyes settling on Kurosaki. “I don’t understand.”

 

Kurosaki leaned forward on his knees and looked away, reordering his thoughts. “Neither do I, Rukia. I’m trying.” He shrugged. “You don’t approve? Okay...most don’t, that’s fine.”

 

Grimmjow growled, “How’s that-” He bit his tongue at the look Kurosaki shot him, and looked at something else. He and Rukia weren’t going to get along.  _ Fine _ . It wasn’t his problem how Kurosaki dealt with her.

 

Turning his attention back on Rukia, he let out a soft sigh. “I’m not asking you to approve, and I’m not asking you to change. Can you work with me?”

 

Hurt softened her features, but she shoved it back down. “Yes.”

 

“You sure, shinigami. Hollows don’t play nice.”

 

Rukia stood, replacing her sword at her hip. Her hand lingered on the hilt, her eyes downcast, thoughtful. The moment dragged, but she turned to face Kurosaki, startling Grimmjow with a low bow.

 

“Rukia-”

 

“ _ Ichigo _ ,” she cut him off, her tone sharp, but weary. “I was thinking of you as a human, as a teenager, and that isn’t––that’s not fair to you. Grimmjow is right.”

 

“Stand up, Rukia, please.”

 

“I’m not done!” she snapped, but her voice smoothed out. “Let me finish.” Kurosaki said nothing, but the urge  to speak was written all over his face. “Nothing but my perception of you is different, Ichigo. I’m still honored you think of me as a friend, and I’m just as honored to work with you. I’m sorry I didn’t respond in kind.” She straightened, her eyes just a bit glassy,  but she held them back. “Nothing’s is perfect, I should know that by now. I don’t really understand, but I trust you...I do.”

 

She folded her arms, defensive, and glanced at Grimmjow. “He makes you happy. I know that, everyone knows that.” A deep blush lit up her  cheeks, one of shame, and she looked back to Ichigo. “I wasn’t supposed to see this, any of this, was I?”

 

Kurosaki struggled to hold her gaze, but kept it when she gave him a small, embarrassed smile. “I messed that up  didn’t I? I reacted exactly the way you feared I would. I could make excuses, but they’re excuses.” She swallowed and said, “I want to be here...say something.”

 

The silence got to Grimmjow too, it was hard to read Kurosaki, he always held the power, whether he intended to or not. Kurosaki stood and reached out to ruffle her hair. She swat at his hand, but there wasn’t much fight behind it. He  said, “It means more than you think that you’ll stay, shrimp. The reason why doesn’t hurt.” 

 

Rukia scoffed, but grimaced through a smile, fighting tears. He knew what it was like to be accepted by Kurosaki. It felt good, and it hurt, all at once. It never felt deserved, but it felt good all the same.

 

She halfheartedly attempted to fix her hair and said, “I want to be here, but maybe not  _ right now _ , if you’re going to...carry on.”

 

Both he and Grimmjow blushed, Grimmjow indignant and Kurosaki flustered. Rukia laughed, nervous, and said, “You’ll be happy to know I couldn’t um, feel that, you know, through this soul...uh-”

 

Grimmjow abruptly stood. “ _ Okay _ , I’m tired of being here, let’s go somewhere else. It’s too cramped.”

 

A small smile snuck onto Kurosaki’s face, something sad, but calm, layered with emotions Grimmjow wasn’t sure he could decipher. But he looked happy. “Somewhere else, you say?”

 

“Kuro-”

 

Too late, they were suddenly knee-deep in flowers and grass, on a hilltop surrounded by nothing but snow ridden mountains. Only god knew where the fuck they were. Or Kurosaki. Grimmjow turned a circle, surrounded by flowery confetti of purples and pinks and yellows. He growled. “I hate it.”

 

Rukia made a sound not unlike a squeal and turned in a wide, disgustingly happy circle. “It’s beautiful! Where are we?”

 

Kurosaki sat and said, “Does it matter? This is where we’re gonna be until everyone calms down.”

 

“You  _ like _ this?” Grimmjow growled.

 

Laying back, Kurosaki folded his arms under his head and closed his eyes. He said,  “Maybe I do.”

 

Grimmjow scowled down at him,  then sat beside him, watching Rukia pick flowers with a smile. Grimmjow asked, “Are we gonna talk about that?”

 

“About what?”

 

“You ran,” Grimmjow said.

 

“I came back.”

 

Grimmjow looked away, folding his legs to lean on his knees. He ignored the field, frowning at Kurosaki until the hybrid finally sighed and opened his eyes. “What’s bothering you, Grimmjow?”

 

His eyes slipped to the  shinigami, humming to herself while she fussed with the flowers she’d picked. Rukia was having a goddamned ball over there, but maybe that was why they were here. It wasn’t cramped and there were flowers. He should have been more specific when he griped.

 

“Grimmjow.”

 

He was stalling. He didn’t want to talk about it, he just wanted it acknowledged. Kurosaki had already done that, in a way, but he was nervous. “Am I going to scare you away?”

 

Kurosaki sighed. “Ah...I see.” The hybrid watched the clouds for a moment, then rolled to his side, looking up at him. That was deliberate, he was purposefully keeping himself low, he was being intentionally submissive, making himself as little of a threat as possible. It both pissed Grimmjow off that he did that, and made his heart twist in gratitude. Kurosaki would never do that, not for anyone. No one but him. It did more than speak volumes, it screamed them. 

 

God it was weird, to see Kurosaki, dark and menacing, surrounded by wildflowers, hair tangled in blades of grass, just inches from his leg. “I talked with Zangetsu…” About what, Grimmjow might not ever know, but the hybrid said it  with such certainty, it had to be important. “I’m not running from you again.”

 

Grimmjow reached for a horn, tightening his grip until his palm  was slick with blood. Kurosaki watched him, and Grimmjow watched the trail of red, slip down the curve of a horn to stain yellow and white flowers. He forced Kurosaki’s head back, baring his throat. He leaned in over him, but hesitated, asking. “So I could kiss you again?”

 

“Do you want to?”

 

“Do I want to?” Grimmjow let out a laugh that sounded too exhausted to be amused. “ _ Kurosaki _ .”

 

Closing that gap between them, Grimmjow kissed him upside down, awkward and all teeth, but Kurosaki was there, and he didn’t run. He was there and  _ he trusted him _ .

 

Grimmjow had never owned something so important, and so precious. He found Kurosaki’s hand in his  hair, pulling him back. “I never told you...I love you.”

 

Grimmjow was grateful Rukia was distracted, and for the small wall of flowers and grass. He cried, curling over Kurosaki, who thankfully said nothing. Kurosaki ran his fingers around the nape of his neck, frighteningly gentle.  _ He loved him.  _

 

Three stupid words, and they had the power to reduce him to tears.

 

No, not the words. Kurosaki. 

 

He held far too much power, all he could do was trust it wouldn’t betray him, but it was just as frightening as it was  exhilarating.

  
  


\--- xxx ---

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lovely beta reader Ad uwu I'm so nervous, I hope you guys liked it


	5. Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the wait is worth it guys ~ Enjoy!

\--- xxx ---

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

Stuck with a flower crown and a grumbling and growling arrancar should have been an awful start to a day. It wasn't. Ichigo was...happy? 

 

Apparently, he was much less frightening to shinigami with flowers in his hair. The absurdity wasn't enough to ease most, if anything their fear was worse, simply watered down with confusion. Rukia swore up and down it helped his image and Grimmjow loathed it, so Ichigo believed her. 

 

“It's degrading,” Grimmjow grumbled. He was perched on the railing of their chosen building, hunched forward on his knees. Ichigo couldn't help but notice his jacket rode up his back, revealing pale skin and the bottom of a 6. 

 

Nothing about this situation was different, not really, but he had the inexplicable compulsion to touch. “They're just flowers,” Ichigo said, absently. He could see straight through his hollow hole to clear blue skies, the corded muscle in his lower back tensing with the bounce of his leg.

 

“I should have made you one too,” Rukia said.

 

“Stick a flower in my hair and I'll rip your arm off.”

 

Ichigo chided, “Tsk, that's a little over dramatic.” He put his hand on his lower back, unreasonably pleased when Grimmjow allowed it. His skin was warm, the slide of muscle under his hand a feeling he wanted to explore. But now he was touching him for no good reason, and he felt he needed a reason. So he pushed him off the railing.

 

“Fuck!” Grimmjow made a startled sound trapped somewhere between a shout and a snarl, catching himself in the air on reishi footholds not ten feet below the railing. “The fuck was that for?” he called up.

 

Rukia giggled somewhere to his right and Ichigo said, “Stop threatening your coworkers.”

 

“She started it,” the arrancar grumbled, jumping back up to the rooftop.

 

“Flowers aren't a threat,” Ichigo said. He noticed Grimmjow kept some wary distance between them this time, and Ichigo tried not to let his disappointment over that show. 

 

Rukia mused, “Is there something we're missing?”

 

Tearing his eyes from Grimmjow, Ichigo looked back at Rukia and asked, “What do you mean? Missed something?”

 

“You say you thought you freed something?”

 

Ichigo's mind wandered back to that laughing shadow of a skeleton, and hedged, “Yeah?”

 

“So,” Rukia continued, “We're expecting to find it in the same place; through a soul passing over or a hollow slain with a zanpakuto. If you chained a dog in a yard and the chain broke, you wouldn't expect the dog to remain in the yard, right?”

 

Ichigo blinked at her. “That...makes sense.”

 

“You telling me we're wasting our time?” Grimmjow said.

 

“I'm just guessing,” Rukia said. She folded her arms and frowned, “This doesn't seem right.”

 

“What do ya mean?” Grimmjow asked.

 

Ichigo pushed his hair from his face, until his claws scraped the edge of a horn. “No, I get it,” he sighed. “The rules have changed.”

 

“So how the fuck do we find it?” Grimmjow asked. He stepped up so they were shoulder to shoulder, his arm casually brushing against his own.

 

Ichigo felt both of their eyes on him and he frowned. “I don't know, okay?”

 

“You said you sensed it before,” Grimmjow said.

 

Ichigo let a bark of laughter slip through his teeth. It sounded a little more hysterical than he thought it would. “But it ran away,” Ichigo said. “And I can't sense it anymore. Do you have any idea the level of noise in my head? It's too much. Screaming and whispering, souls and reishi and power  _ everywhere _ ; I can barely fucking tune it out. It wants me to listen, but I don't want to.”

 

Ichigo stopped when Grimmjow stepped into his line of sight, sharp blue eyes searching him for something. His voice was forcibly calm, Ichigo noticed a tight line of tension buried in his words. “We won't ask you to.” 

 

Ichigo stared at him, eyes snapping to his own wrist when Grimmjow’s fingers brushed against him. Blood dripped from clenched fists from where his own claws scored his palms, and he felt a flash of shame. He hadn't even noticed.

 

Grimmjow's touch melted his tension, the arrancar's fingers slowly uncurling his grip to hold his hand, heedless of the blood that stained his fingers. “We'll find another way.”

 

Rukia pointedly looked elsewhere, giving him the few seconds he needed to pull himself together. These were the things he didn't want others to see. Especially the people he cared about.

 

Tiny failures, flickers of proof that he was falling apart.

 

**_“Easy King. Focus.”_ **

 

That's right, focus on Grimmjow, forget everything else. Forget it, ignore it. 

 

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Ichigo narrowed his focus to Grimmjow's breath, the beautiful, wild burn of his soul. He breathed with him, ribs expanding with a slow, full breath. He felt Grimmjow’s fingers pressuring bones and flesh in an unyielding grip, one that should have been bordering on pain. 

 

Ichigo squeezed back and opened his eyes. 

 

Worry swam in those blue eyes, but there was also relief and pride. “There ya go,” Grimmjow murmured. He let his hand go, shifting his grip to his wrist with the gentle trail of his fingertips along the taut lines of his tendons. He lifted Ichigo's hand to his mouth, licking the blood from his palm. A shiver raced up his spine along with the path Grimmjow marked with his tongue. Ichigo watched, transfixed, as his tongue traced a warm, wet trail up his lifeline and curled around a digit, carefully closing his lips around a claw. Holy shit.

 

Rukia cleared her throat. “Should I leave?”

 

Ichigo flinched, having forgotten she was there, a blush settling on his cheeks. 

 

Grimmjow pulled away to speak, voice hoarse. “Yes.”

 

“No,” Ichigo countered. Grimmjow’s lips turned down into a frown bordering on a pout. Ichigo let out a heavy breath, gently pulling his hand away. He tore his eyes away with just as much difficulty to look at Rukia, continuing as if he'd never stopped. “Proximity matters, if it's nearby, it can't hide, but if it runs to a dimension I can't follow, it's as good as gone.”

 

“You ignoring me?” Grimmjow growled, indignant.

 

“Attempting too,” Ichigo said. And it was  _ hard _ . Grimmjow was a wonderful distraction, and the arrancar knew it. 

 

Grimmjow reached around behind him, snatching the flower crown from his head.  Ichigo turned and whined, “Hey.”

 

His conduit waved it like a trophy in front of his nose, a smug smirk on his face. “Not payin’ attention.”

 

That was true, he tended to let his guard down around Grimmjow, and of course the other would flaunt it.

 

Rukia was watching with an embarrassed, but bemused smile, and hid it badly. She cleared her throat and tried to stay on topic, bless her heart. “So how do we chase it?”

 

Grimmjow looked at Ichigo and asked, “What’s it want? Find the prey, find the fucker.” He shrugged like this was common knowledge, and honestly, it was.

 

Ichigo frowned. “It mentioned sin. I don’t know how to find that.”

 

“How do you even measure that?” Rukia asked.

 

Brows drawn together, Ichigo thought aloud. “It’s subjective, can you?”

 

Grimmjow was edging closer to Ichigo, eyes raking over his shoulders, but his tone betrayed his investment in the conversation. “Who fucking cares? Find some motherfucker and kill him. That’ll attract it, right?”

 

“I’m not killing anyone,” Ichigo said. “You hate when I do that shit anyways.”

 

“What shit?” Grimmjow growled, “Why would I hate when you do what I say?”

 

Ichigo answered his first question lightly. “Judging people.”

 

That earned him a moment of tense silence and uncomfortable looks. Rukia’s was different from Grimmjow's; her’s was the look of someone on the outside looking in. She wasn’t his leash, his anchor, his sanity. Grimmjow was. And right now his brows were drawn tight with guilt. 

 

Ichigo sighed through his nose. That wasn’t his intention, but he knew Grimmjow felt he’d disregarded his purpose. Ichigo reached out and flicked him in the temple, only hard enough to sting.

 

Hand snapping to his face, Grimmjow reared back and spat. “The fuck was that for?”

 

“You looked guilty, which is stupid.”

 

Grimmjow snarled, shoulders tensing into a tight line. “Fuckin’ hypocrite.”

 

A smile spread across Ichigo’s face, reading the lines of his anger with nothing but anticipation and joy. “Is that the best you could come up with?’

 

“Motherf-” Ichigo smashed their lips together in a kiss, smothering that insult before it could leave his mouth. The moment their lips touched he sent them elsewhere, anywhere really, for privacy. 

 

Grimmjow’s hands found his hips, and Ichigo crushed them together, arms wrapped around him, jaws aching to bite, to devour the soul in his arms. Claws raked over Grimmjow’s shoulders, slicing through muscle like taffy. The arrancar groaned against his lips in pain, instincts warring within the arrancar in his arms. 

 

Fight or flight; it rang in the arrancar so strongly he could taste it. He shivered and fought like a trapped bird in his arms, and Ichigo broke their kiss with a hiss, a hand yanking his head back with a firm grip in his hair. Snapping his jaws short of his conduit’s face with a growl, an arm snaked around his throat, hauling him off the arrancar and back in a steely grip.

 

Distance leant perspective, and Ichigo felt his tension drain away with a ragged exhale, falling limp against Zangetsu’s chest. 

 

Grimmjow’s lips were smeared with blood, eyes wide and wary, but the look he gave him was merely expectant. “Ichigo?”

 

Ichigo was breathing almost as hard as Grimmjow, shutting his eyes with a weary mantra, “Yeah, yeah, yeah…”  He was Ichigo, that was him... so what was he doing?

 

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes so hard he saw stars, irritated when it reminded him of die Konigin. It was so tempting to draw on the kugekito, to ease the hammering of need in his gut. 

 

“Careful.”

 

Ichigo didn’t know what Zangetsu meant until he felt Grimmjow take his hands, fingers pressing into his palms, tugging them away from his face. Zangetsu kept a firm grim around his throat and hair, cautious on both of their behalf. Blue eyes watched him with caution and pity...no, he knew better. Grief.

 

“I fucked up,” Ichigo said softly.

 

Grimmjow’s chin jerked to the side in a sharp shake of his head. “No.” Blood seeped from a torn and tattered lip, blooming red and dripping down his chin to stain his jacket. They stared at each other, Ichigo’s hands in Grimmjow’s, and neither could find the words to bridge that sudden gap. 

 

Grimmjow knew, he knew, he fucking  _ knew _ he was losing it. Ichigo thought it would be easier to hide than this...Well, he was wrong.

 

Blue eyes were narrowed to thin, thoughtful slits, watching him with the intensity he normally reserved for a fight. 

 

Ichigo finally took stock of where they were standing. A lazy cricket song floated above waves of grass and wildflowers, rippling beneath a chilly night breeze. It dragged gentle fingers of sweat soaked skin, easing some of the fevered need that had taken root in his bones.

 

“So what was it?” Grimmjow finally asked. Ichigo stared back at him, unsure what he meant. “What set you off?”

 

Ichigo watched him, struggling to identify just what it was he was feeling. He was surprised when Zangetsu answered for him. “Desire.”

 

Taken aback, Grimmjow blinked, looking from Zangetsu, back to Ichigo. “You...” And he seemed to be at a loss for words.

 

Ichigo blushed, unsure what the next step was. He felt like something important had been dragged into the light. “I want you more than I thought. Enough to confuse with...other stuff.”

 

“You want me,” Grimmjow repeated.

 

Ichigo twisted in Zangetsu’s grip, but his grip was iron. “I’m fine,” Ichigo growled back at his hollow.

 

“King, you’re not. You barely understand yourself, let alone with all this bullshit. I’m doing you a favor.”

 

And he was, he already had. He’d been ready to eat Grimmjow alive, and that reality hit him like a truck. His exhale was heavy and full of pain. “I’m sorry.”

 

Grimmjow’s mouth twisted in disgust and annoyance, but it was directed elsewhere. He dropped his hand and reached for his face. His fingers traced his jaw, calloused and gentle. “Shut the fuck up. Just...shut up.” 

 

He leaned in, and Ichigo’s breath caught in his throat when his lips hovered, so close, yet wouldn’t touch. The urge to fight his hollow to close the distance was strong, their breath humid between them. “Scared?” Ichigo asked, and then Grimmjow’s mouth were pressed to his, cooled blood slick on his lips. Blood full of la sangre, regret, and so much soul. 

 

Their kiss grew frantic too quickly, hungry and biting, and Grimmjow pulled away. No, that was wrong. The hand on his hair was gone, Zangetsu had pushed Grimmjow back.

 

Voice rough, Grimmjow said, “I know I'm irresistible, but this is somethin’ else, Kurosaki.”

 

It was a stupid joke to cover up how shaken he was, the distress was visible on his face. Ichigo snorted a dry laugh. “It’s a lot to process.”

 

Lifting a hand to his lips, Ichigo smeared the blood from them, staring down at the streak of red on the side of his hand. La sangre swam over his skin, eagerly devouring the lifeblood of his conduit. Ichigo muttered a curse, swiping a hand over his face. 

 

“I changed my mind,” Grimmjow said.

 

“What?”

 

“Use the kugeki, use  _ something _ .”

 

“You hate it,” Ichigo said. He sank to the ground and Zangetsu followed him down, breath soft against the back of his neck.

 

Grimmjow grumbled, “Hate this too.” He reached up for his torn lip, wiping away the blood only to spit the rest into the grass. “Can't get a fucking break, can you, Kurosaki?”

 

A light scoff fell from Ichigo's lips. “Guess not.”

 

“Use it,” Grimmjow demanded.

 

“No.” It was easier to refuse than Ichigo thought it might be. Grimmjow's eyes narrowed, and Ichigo tried to elaborate. “Not for this.” The kugeki was a crutch, it wouldn't solve his problems, it would only sweep then under the rug. He'd tried that, time and time again, and it always came back to bite him. 

 

Grimmjow canted his head, trying to read him, and said, “Fine. You're a quick study, you'll learn.” He stepped forward, then crouched before him, arms resting on his knees. “You wannit?”

 

“What?” Ichigo asked.

 

“Stupid question, koneko.”

 

Ichigo swallowed. It. 

 

_ Oh _ .

 

Grimmjow's eyes slid to Zangetsu and he asked, “Can you hold him?”

 

“Hold me?” Ichigo echoed.

 

“Probably.”

 

Ichigo twisted to look back at his hollow and only succeeded in knocking horns with him. He made a sound of annoyance and didn't try to turn again. “Probably?”

 

Zangetsu’s voie was close to his ear. “Can’t hold you if the Gods cut me off from your reiryoku.”

 

Ichigo didn’t think he’d let that happen, but then, this was all new territory, he wasn’t sure how he’d react.

 

Grimmjow leaned forward, sliding a hand up over his knee, along the curve of his thigh, then stopped. That motion was controlled, deliberate, and demanded all of Ichigo’s attention. The warmth of Grimmjow’s hand seeped through his shihakusho, all too noticeable in the chill of night.

 

“We left Rukia,” Ichigo said. The excuse felt flimsy.

 

“ _ You _ left Rukia,” Grimmjow corrected. “She's a big girl, she'll be fine for awhile on her own.” He leaned in a little closer, his shoulders urging Ichigo’s knees apart. 

 

Heart pounding, Ichigo tensed, uncertain. Zangetsu broke his loose chokehold and wrapped his arms around him from behind, pinning his arms in a tight bear hug. It should have been frightening, but he knew his hollow inside and out. His breath gusted over the back of his neck, the sharp edge of a horn resting against the side of his throat, and he felt safe, not trapped. 

 

Struck by how absurd it all was, Ichigo started to laugh, a low, tired laugh. “Is this fucked?”

 

Grimmjow’s lips quirked up into a small smile. “Everything’s fucked, but for fuck’s sake, I’m gonna give you at least one thing you want.”

 

Ichigo couldn't find it in his heart to argue. He was selfish, but he wasn't blind either; Grimmjow wanted this too, God's be damned.

 

“I’d ask if this isn’t more effort than it's worth,” Ichigo said, “but I think I know the answer.”

 

“Yeah, stupid question,” Grimmjow said. He leaned in, pushing Ichigo’s knees further apart. “Strongest fucker alive wants me?” He reached for his chest, pressing his palm to his stomach, his shihakusho flattened under the heel of his hand. His fingertips brushed the edge of his hollow hole, the warm weight of his hand following the curve of hardened muscle. He muttered, “That’s a pretty big compliment.”

 

“Don't give me too much credit,” Ichigo said. “I've been selfish from the beginning. I'm nothing but bad news for you.”

 

“Che, I’m a hollow, Kurosaki, my whole existence is bad news. Ain’t got anything worth a damn besides Pantera and you.” 

 

Something painfully pleasant clenched inside him at those words. “Didn't know you were such a sap.”

 

“Fuck you,” Grimmjow muttered, but it lacked heart. Weight settled on Ichigo's stomach and he leaned in for a careful, chaste kiss. His arrancar's other hand pressed into his inner thigh, pushing his legs apart and testing his reaction. 

 

His breath felt tangled in his throat, never having let anyone touch him so much before. Not willingly. It was a lot to process, even frightening, but nothing about the arrancar between his legs was a threat. Not to him. 

 

There was no Szayel, there was no Aizen, just Grimmjow. Grimmjow...whose hands were on him, whose lips were touching his, so soft.  _ Grimmjow _ was his. This was his, didn’t he deserve  _ something _ ? The Gods thought they could take this, but Grimmjow was his, the Gods were his, and they could fuck off. He deepened that kiss and Grimmjow let him, urging him to take the lead despite everything. 

 

Stupid, fucking arrancar. What had he done to inspire so much trust?

 

Zangetsu murmured, “If you cry during sex, King, you’re never gonna live it down.”

 

Grimmjow pulled back to look at him and Ichigo hissed, “I’m not gonna  _ cry _ .”

 

Grimmjow looked more curious than judgemental. “I know I’m new to this, but I couldn’t possibly be that bad.”

 

Ichigo rolled his eyes. “I was just thinking how stupid you are for indulging my bullshit when I want to  _ eat _ you.” His tone fell into a low growl and the shift in Grimmjow was visible, his pupils blowing black in interest. 

 

“I know some of that isn’t you,” Grimmjow said, “but some of it is.” He dropped his head, nose flush to the corded muscle of his throat, and Ichigo tensed, instincts prodding his urge to push back. It was a knee-jerk reaction bound in an interesting spike of lust. 

 

Grimmjow mouthed his neck, laving his tongue over his skin in a wet stripe. He nipped, teeth not harming him through his hierro, but the sensation of sharp canines scraping his throat was enough to make him gasp.  

 

“Maybe I should explain it to you?” Grimmjow murmured. His voice was low and layered with something Ichigo could only classify as aggression.

 

“I’m here cause I wanna be, and I hadn't given it much thought until I had  _ you _ under  _ me _ for once.” His hand slipped from his hand to his crotch, palm pressing down on the hardening bulge in his pants. He moved his hand, fingers sliding through the folds of his shihakusho. He squeezed, uncharacteristically gentle.

 

Ichigo let out a heavy breath, tightening his legs around Grimmjow's waist, jerking him closer and pinning him in place at the same time. “Couldn't tell how big you were before. Damn, Kurosaki.”

 

“Do you have to say that?”

 

“Why?” Grimmjow squeezed again, slightly harder, his fingers digging into the width of his arousal. “Embarrassed?”

 

“Shut up,” Ichigo muttered. 

 

Grimmjow couldn’t move back, trapped between his legs, and he kept talking, massaging his crotch at an agonizingly slow pace. “I liked it.”

 

His breathing undone by every stroke of Grimmjow’s hand, Ichigo asked, “Liked what?”

 

“Having you between my legs, under me, with that fuckin’ look on your face.”

 

Grimmjow mouthed his throat, licking and sucking, and Ichigo finally let his head fall back onto Zangetsu's shoulder. The wrapped handle of his sword pressed into his ear, a dull ache that reminded him of just who was against his back, holding him tight. A pained exhale gusted over his throat, the teasing pressure of Grimmjow's teeth sliding along the underside of his jaw. 

 

Ichigo dared to ask, “What look?” 

 

“Like you wanted me,” he rumbled.

 

Fuck. And he did want him, in ways that weren’t always sane and weren’t always him. Ichigo twisted his hips up into his hand and whispered, “You don't know the half of it.”

 

Grimmjow hummed deep in his throat, sinking lower to his collarbone and nipped, hard enough he should have drawn blood. Ichigo found he was disappointed that he couldn’t. He wanted to hold him, sink his claws in and drink his soul from his blood––

 

“King, settle.”

 

Ichigo realized how hard he was fighting to escape, his arms tense within Zangetsu’s hold. Grimmjow hadn’t stopped rubbing him, the only difference was that he’d moved from his place at his throat to stare down at him. “You’re a fuckin’ handful, aren’t you?”

 

Brows creased, Ichigo panted and asked, “Was that a dick joke?” Grimmjow blinked, then laughed, flashing his teeth in a look of pure joy that made his heart clench in a weird way. 

 

Ichigo grumbled, “Don’t laugh at me, you ass.”

 

Grimmjow’s laugh ended with a sigh and he leaned in to kiss him, hard and aggressive, his teeth scraping against his in a way that was far from comfortable or arousing, but sent a shock of need up his spine regardless. He pulled away before Ichigo could consider hurting him and Ichigo ran his tongue over his lips, tasting lingering traces of blood.

 

Keeping out of biting distance, Grimmjow said, “It wasn’t, consider the opportunity lost, but now I know where your head’s at.”

 

Ichigo flushed and argued, “You’re the one with your hand on my–” He snapped his mouth shut before he could finish that statement, choked up over a word with all new connotation.

 

Unfortunately, Grimmjow noticed, baring his teeth in a teasing smile. He squeezed, then pulled his hand away, a mischievous look in his eyes. “You want it, ask for it.”

 

Blush deepening, Ichigo expression twisted into one of outrage. “Ask? Touch me!” He tightened his legs around him, pinning him to his chest and knocking the air out of him with a whump. Grimmjow only laughed, shaking with it against his stomach. It felt weird when his foot was half in the back of his hollow holw, but it was overshadowed by annoyance, because laughter meant he lost.

 

Grimmjow’s cheek was pressed against his hollow hole, the hard edge of his mask depressing the edge, scraping as he spoke. “That’s not good enough, Kurosaki. Tell me  _ exactly _ what you want.”

 

“Why?” Ichigo asked. He pulled Grimmjow so close, his lower stomach was flush to his groin, his weight hot and solid between his legs. He ignored the pulse of need and focused on Grimmjow’s instead, feeling his itching desire in his soul.

 

His arrancar’s voice was muffled against his chest. “Because, Kurosaki, I want to know what you want, I need to hear it from you.”

 

“Shit,” Kurosaki sighed, closing his eyes to the quilt of stars above him. He was oddly embarrassed over it. It was once thing to tease or joke, but another thing entirely to say something in context. Grimmjow deserved to know it was him, that it wasn’t just confusing mess of need and drive from the Gods that were hollowing him out.

 

Grimmjow let him think, addressing his hollow instead. “Oi, hollow, why didn’t this happen the first time, on the bed?”

 

“It did,” Zangetsu said.

 

“You weren’t supposed to tell him,” Ichigo complained. 

 

He felt Grimmjow shift against him, his left hand reaching up, his thumb brushing the tender hollow of his throat. “I said no secrets. Why is it so hard for you to trust me?”

 

Ichigo didn’t want to look, he didn’t know what he’d see there. So he opened his eyes to the glitter of stars, a sigh falling from his lips. “I do trust you, Grimmjow.”

 

“Is that why you ran?”

 

“No...no I ran because I got scared. I didn’t lie to you.” He sagged against Zangetsu’s chest, his leg-lock around Grimmjow’s back loosening. “I thought I could handle it.”

 

“The rooftop too?”

 

“Probably...I didn’t realize how much it was affecting me.”

 

Seconds passed by in agonizing silence, and then Grimmjow sighed, exaggerated and loud. “Shit’s making me sad,” he groused. “So shut up.”

 

“Thought you wanted me to talk?” Ichigo teased.

 

“You know what I fuckin’ mean.” Grimmjow growled. He shifted against his chest again, his teeth finding the rim of his hollow hole. Ichigo arched, the sensation almost featherlight. He wanted more, that aching need the same as the first time with Grimmjow’s arm in his chest. 

 

Lost in his own feelings over it, he wasn’t sure which impulses were his own, but he thought he knew what he wanted. “Bite me like you mean it,” he hissed.

 

Grimmjow looked up at him, eyes dark with lust and asked,  “Is that an order?”

 

Ichigo twisted to free his arms; he wanted to grab him, tear his claws into his bones and bite. He let out a heavy, frustrated exhale and snarled, “ _ Yes _ .”

 

Grimmjow’s fingers raked over his ribs and his teeth clamped down over flesh with violence reserved to kill. It wasn’t a love bite, it was a need to devour and consume. It never broke through his hierro but he felt it, the sensation of teeth and fangs biting to devour his soul in the same way he wanted Grimmjow.

 

Behind him, Zangetsu's hold loosened. His hands shot out to grab Grimmjow, but his hollow caught his wrists in both hands before he could. Grimmjow watched, assessing, and let go, licking the curve of his hollow hole with a look filled with challenge. 

 

Bowing up into Grimmjow, Zangetsu moved from behind him to force him to his back in the grass, his hands pinned over his head. Ichigo writhed to get free and Zangetsu leaned forward, all of his weight on his wrists. He ducked down, hair spilling over his neck and chest in a curtain of white. His hollow pressed his forehead to his and Ichigo stilled, panting for breath he suddenly couldn't catch. “Easy, King, easy.”

 

He felt Grimmjow’s weight settle on his hips, his bony ass unmistakable for anyone else. He felt Grimmjow’s hands on his lower stomach, gentle at first, then tensing to grip his waist. He rolled his hips up, frustrated by the lack of contact. He groaned, sounding whinier than he wished he had. “I just wanna touch him.”

 

“I know, King,” Zangetsu murmured. 

 

“S’okay, I’ll do enough for the both of us,” Grimmjow said. His hand wandered back to his crotch, his touch too gentle, too torturous. Bucking up into his hand, Grimmjow caught himself with a hand on his chest, and a hiss, “Say it, Kurosaki, I need to hear it.”

 

Ichigo grit his teeth, and Zangetsu leaned back, letting him look up at Grimmjow. The arrancar really was beautiful. A few moments with Ichigo’s hands in his hair had really messed him up. It was a wreck, falling into his face and complementing the red flush on his cheeks, his lip still swollen and bleeding. He was a fierce, wild thing, and for once he was willing to do whatever he wanted. Anything, and Ichigo was hung up over it like he’d fucking proposed.

 

Brows creased in impatience, it was what ultimately drove him to respond. Ichigo snarled, “Touch me! I want your hand on my dick, or better, your mouth. Okay?! I said it.”

 

Grimmjow looked surprised, like he hadn’t thought he’d say anything at all, but he recovered quickly enough, his mouth stretching into a wide smirk. “My mouth? Bold. You really want my teeth all over your dick that bad?”

 

Ichigo flushed, feeling like he was being called out. Zangetsu didn’t let that go unanswered, “Yeah, he does. Tease him over it any more and maybe I’ll let him maul you.”

 

Grimmjow’s smile wavered, uncertain if that threat was real. “I like hearin’ it. You’re a quiet fucker, Kurosaki.” His fingers tugged the tie on his shihakusho, loosening and unraveling the knot. The night air was cool on his lower stomach, tugging his wrists in Zangetsu’s grip, and it was all  blindingly  _ real _ . Grimmjow was his, he already foolishly threw his life into Ichigo’s claws, but it wasn’t equal. Grimmjow didn’t have him back, his conduit got this tempered version of himself.

 

Ichigo hissed, “Wait! Wait…” Grimmjow paused, looking up at him in concern.

 

Letting his head fall back on the grass, Ichigo sighed and closed his eyes. The fuck did he want? He couldn’t even touch him, he wanted him, but this felt wrong. “I can’t do this, not like this. I can’t, I can’t…”

 

“Hey,” Grimmjow said. He leaned forward, reaching for his cheek. “Look at me.” His tone was hard, but his touch was gentle, even uncertain. Ichigo looked, and regretted it. Grimmjow looked sad, but there wasn’t any blame there, and Ichigo wished that there was. “If you don’t want this, that’s fine.”

 

Ichigo sighed, irritation making his teeth itch. “That’s not my problem. I want it, I want you, and if I can’t even touch you without hurting you, then…”

 

Grimmjow sighed, finishing the statement Ichigo couldn’t. “Then better not at all.” He looked away, something broken in his eyes and his heart, and Ichigo couldn’t place it. His chin fell in a sharp nod, like something he feared had been confirmed, and he got up off his lap.

 

The space Grimmjow had occupied felt cold, the lack of weight on his lap something he’d all too quickly grown to like. Grimmjow was walking away, he was just going to leave him there? Ichigo stared at his back with sudden fear. Zangetsu let him go, not about to stand in his way when he was so desperate to bridge this sudden gap. He stood and lunged, gripping his shoulder to spin the arrancar around to face him. “Don’t walk away from me!”

 

Grimmjow shouted right back. “Why not?! I’m never enough!”

 

“I don’t know what that means.”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” he hissed. “ _ I break _ , I’m not good enough for you, you just said it.”

 

Ichigo shouted, “You know that isn’t what I meant!”

 

“Isn’t it?”

 

Blinded with sudden rage, Ichigo gripped him by the jacket and hurled him into the ground. Grimmjow’s back  hit the ground with a grunt of pain, sliding back on dew soaked flowers. 

 

Ichigo followed him down, his knees on either side of him. He lifted him up by the jacket just to slam him into the ground to punctuate his words. “I love you, you stupid asshole! By the very nature of what that means, you’re good enough. You’re more than good enough, so fucking wait, okay?  _ Wait _ .” That sounded more desperate than he meant it to, but he was scared, and anger was always  easier than fear.

 

Grimmjow stared up at him in shock, but it didn’t last. His eyes narrowed again in rage. “I can’t even handle a kiss, Kurosaki. I’m weak.”

 

Baring his teeth, Ichigo hissed,  “No, you’re  _ mine _ , Jaegerjaquez.  _ Mine _ .”

 

Grimmjow paled at the shift in tone, a flicker of fear in his eyes. Ichigo grit his teeth through the urge to harm, feeling Zangetsu’s presence close beside him, preparing to intervene. Ichigo didn’t want him to, he wanted to stop himself. Trusting his instincts had always been so easy, but now that trust was betraying him. This was Grimmjow, he’d never consciously hurt him...or so he’d thought.

 

Repeating those words to himself in his head like a mantra, Ichigo let his hands fisted in Grimmjow’s jacket relax, smoothing over his chest to his neck. Grimmjow eased some beneath that touch, and Ichigo raised his hand to his cheek, to the unmasked side of his face. “Don’t leave because you think you aren’t good enough, leave because you hate me, despise that I want to hurt you, not that you’re too fragile. I’m sorry I’m like this.”

 

Grimmjow’s anger collapse in on itself, his brows drawing together in pain. “Don’t apologize to me, Kurosaki, not for this.”

 

Throat tight, Ichigo whispered, “But  _ I am _ sorry.”

 

“Kurosaki...”

 

Tears blurred Grimmjow face, so he squeezed them shut and hissed, “Goddammit.” He didn’t want to cry, he hated it, especially when he felt he had less reason to than Grimmjow. He felt arms snake around his neck, dragging him down into an uncomfortable embrace. 

 

Ichigo sobbed, Grimmjow’s hand in his hair and at his back holding him tight. He held him and he cried, angry that Grimmjow would leave like it was some sort of favor, angry at the Gods for eroding his soul, angry at his fucking hair, crushed uncomfortably between them, sticking to a cheek wet with tears, angry at his horns for being in the way. 

 

He cried until he had no tears left, finding himself on his side, curled against Grimmjow’s chest. “Pretty pathetic,” he rasped.

 

“I ain’t tellin’,” Grimmjow said. 

 

The arrancar’s fingers were still tangled in his hair, massaging his scalp like a cat might knead a blanket. It was oddly comforting to be tangled in his arms without judgement, or fear, or pain. Only heartache.

 

So self absorbed in his own  problems, it was easy to forget how badly he wanted to tear Grimmjow apart. That was sort of fucked, so he tried not to think about it.

 

Ichigo let out a long, slow breath, his eyes burning from tears he’d held back for too long. “I’m sorry I got you involved.”

 

“The fuck are you rambling about?” Grimmjow growled. His fingers stopped their careful kneading to fist in his hair, either in rage or admonishment, Ichigo couldn’t be sure.

 

“Everything. If I gave a damn about you, I’d have never forced you to be my fraccion, I’d have left you alone.”

 

“It’s not like you to have regrets,” Grimmjow said.

 

Ichigo scoffed lightly. “It’s not like me to trust either.”

 

“So why did you do it?” Grimmjow asked, curiosity lining his tone.

 

“You already know. You were familiar, resilient...and I missed you.”

 

The arrancar ‘s grip in his hair lessened, pulling it back from his face to tuck it behind his ear. His voice was soft. “You didn’t know me.”

 

“I didn’t,” Ichigo agreed. “I missed you anyway. I promised to fight you again, but I...the next time I saw you, you were dead.” He rolled to his back, dislodging Grimmjow’s grip, and looked up at the stars. “You keep telling me to be selfish, but I’ve been selfish from the beginning.”

 

Closing his eyes to the stars, Ichigo felt Grimmjow’s fingers brush his neck, tracing the underside of his jaw, almost as if he was testing that he could. The touch, no matter how gentle, set his nerves buzzing, his spine stiffening. Grimmjow said, “Does my opinion matter?”

 

Ichigo’s lips turned up into a tiny smile. “Maybe.”

 

“I hated you at first; you were strong, I didn’t even realize how strong, and you threw me around like you were toying  with me. Took me awhile to see it for what it was.”

 

“What do you mean?” Ichigo asked.

 

“Never really smiled much, but you smiled at me...respected me...fuck, I’m not gonna go on about this stupid shit, but,” he swiped his hand over his face, “I mattered to you for a long time, didn’t I? Even before you really trusted me.”

 

“I used you, I was desperate,” Ichigo said.

 

“Whatever,” Grimmjow grumbled. “You made me strong, but it’ll never be enough, will it?”

 

“Back to this,” Ichigo murmured.

 

“Yeah, can’t get away from it, Kurosaki.” Ichigo felt Grimmjow's head jerk in Zangetsu’s direction, his hollow hovering nearby in a crouch, waiting and watching, a silent guardian beside them. “He knows, I know, but you’re a stubborn idiot.”

 

“No,” Ichigo argued.

 

“I’m weak. Pisses me off, but I am.”

 

“Were you really going to leave?” Ichigo asked.

 

“Earlier? Tsk, no. Just pissed off.”

 

Ichigo knew better; he wasn’t angry, he was heartbroken, and playing it off as nothing. He twisted to face him, careful of his horns, and draped his arm over his stomach, his fingers grazing the edge of his hollow hole. Grimmjow’s breath hitched, and he lifted his arm, his arrancar’s hand curling around his throat. His palm was warm on  his throat, tightening when he swallowed.

 

“Can’t hurt you,” Grimmjow muttered, “no wonder you let me do that.”

 

Ichigo sucked in a breath through his teeth, his head rolling back like he might be able to see him. He couldn’t, all he succeeded in doing was baring his throat. “You think my instincts don’t remember what it was like to be weak, to be scared?” Grimmjow tried to pull his hand away, but Ichigo didn’t let him, covering his hand with his own. “It’s still frightening.”

 

“I couldn’t hurt you if I tried,” Grimmjow said.

 

“Maybe,” Ichigo said, “but my body doesn’t know that. I’m used to being hurt. Do you have any idea how frightening it is to have your teeth on my throat?” No answer, and he didn’t expect one. It wasn’t like he needed to tell Grimmjow what fear was like. “It’s terrifying. Knowing you won’t kill me, knowing you can’t, doesn’t mean much to that little bit of panic.”

 

“Then, why did you let me do it?” Grimmjow asked, his voice unreasonably quiet.

 

“Because I don’t want to be scared, not of you.”

 

Grimmjow scoffed lightly. “Can’t even hurt you, you shouldn’t be scared.”

 

“I’m trying to talk to you, you dick.”

 

Grimmjow sighed. “Yeah, I know.” His fingers slid across his neck, tensing into a claw, pressing up into the soft underside of his jaw. “This scares you?”

 

Ichigo swallowed and remained still. He knew Grimmjow wouldn’t hurt him, couldn’t, but his instincts still bristled in unease. Unease, but layered beneath a thrill. He could trust Grimmjow, he could finally let go, and he wanted to, so badly. “Yes.”

 

“Why tolerate it?”

 

“I said I was afraid...I never said that was all I felt.”

 

For a long moment, Grimmjow said nothing, and when he did, his tone was searching. “You like being vulnerable?”

 

Ichigo let out a breath, tilting his head to look at Grimmjow’s side. “Only to you.”

 

The arrancar stiffened under his hand and said, “Can’t say shit like that, Kurosaki.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Makes me want you.”

 

Oh...made sense. ”I’m sorry.”

 

“Stop apologizing,” Grimmjow growled.

 

“Then stop moping, I don’t know what else to say.” Grimmjow moved, rolling over to pin Ichigo beneath him. Ichigo looked up into sad, murky blue eyes and started, “I-”

 

Grimmjow’s thumb pressed to his lips, his expression wrinkling into pain. “Don’t you dare apologize to me again.”

 

Ichigo frowned up to him. “Then stop making that face.”

 

“There’s no face, you’re just stupid.”

 

Ichigo rolled his eyes, caught off guard when Grimmjow kissed him. It was slow, cautious, and Ichigo was careful to do nothing but react, never reaching, never taking. A need stirred in his chest, a pressing anxiety, but he didn’t indulge it. He focused on staying calm, on the velvet touch of wet lips. He started to breathe a little fast, and his arrancar broke that kiss with a soft exhale, his nose pressed to his cheek. “I know I shouldn’t whine at you, but fuck is it not fair. Fuckin’ Gods ruin everything.”

 

Ichigo reached for him, tangling his hands in his hair, and made every effort to relax. “Yeah, it isn’t fair. When is anything fair?”

 

“Should complain more, Kurosaki. It’s cathartic.”

 

Ichigo made an aggravated sound at the callback. “Fuck you.”

 

Grimmjow leaned back and snorted. “Pff, I wish.”

 

Ichigo stared at him, and Grimmjow stared back. Beneath the banter, his arrancar’s heart still ached. “You worry me, Grimmjow.”

 

Grimmjow's face scrunched into a snarl. “Worry about yourself, you crazy fuck.”

 

“Call me crazy and it'll hurt my feelings.”

 

“Fuck off, ya ain't that delicate.”

 

Ichigo smiled sadly and circled back. “Can't tell me not to worry, that’s not how that works.” The look on Grimmjow's face was all annoyance, but Ichigo wasn't fooled. There was more going on behind those eyes than Grimmjow would ever let on, but the glimpse Ichigo had into his soul only left him confused, so he guessed. “You’re bitter.”

 

“Wouldn’t you be?” Ichigo looked away and Grimmjow turned his chin back. “Not at you.”

 

Ichigo frowned up at him. “For now.” The sudden chime of his ringtone startled then both. Ichigo flinched, reaching to pull the phone from his kosode and  read the caller ID. “Kisuke?” It had been awhile since the scientist had reached out to him for anything, it was the last person he expected to hear from.

 

Answering on the last ring, Ichigo said, “Hey, Kisuke. Been awhile.”

 

“Indeed Kurosaki-san, although I'm not calling for myself. Hold for a moment.”

 

Ichigo heard the rustle of the phone changing hands, then a steady, baritone voice he hadn't heard in months. “Ichigo.”

 

Ichigo sat up, forcing Grimmjow's scowling ass back on his thighs. “Chad?”

 

“Can we talk? It's important.”

 

The tone he held was one reserved for business. He sounded happy to hear from him, but his voice was lined with uncharacteristic stress. Ichigo shot Grimmjow a look and said, “Yeah, give me a few minutes. I'll be there.”

 

They hung up, leaving Ichigo with an unresolved conversation, a heavy heart, and worry for his friend. Grimmjow looked at him expectantly, and Ichigo answered, “It sounded important.”

 

“We're done anyway,” Grimmjow growled. He climbed up off of him and Ichigo felt the irritation tightening his jaw. 

 

Ichigo followed him up, tying his pants with a frustrated scowl and a stiff jerk of his wrist to tighten the knot. “We’re not.”

 

“Whatever.” Again with these stupid mood swings. Grimmjow’s heart ached, so he brushed it off with anger, his first instinct to isolate himself. Fuck that.

 

The arrancar still wouldn’t look at him. Ichigo grit his teeth and gripped his shoulder, spinning his conduit around to face him. He fisted his hands in his jacket, pushing them both through la sangre. He was tired of softness, of flowers. 

 

He threw him back hard into a stone wall, crushing their lips together. Grimmjow’s hands found his waist, and Ichigo bristled, grabbing his wrists to pin them against the wall along with the rest of him. Ichigo’s voice was low against his lips, breath hot between them. “Don’t walk away from me if you don’t mean it.”

 

Grimmjow snarled, “I do that all the time.”

 

Ichigo dropped his voice and hissed, “So  _ stop _ . Makes me want to hurt you.”

 

“You wanna hurt me anyway, so what?”

 

The ache in his jaw to bite was so strong, Ichigo swayed back. His teeth itched to sink into the soul before him, to smother his life and take it, keep it, consume it. He bit down on his forearm instead, squeezing his eyes shut to focus  on the thrum of life around him. This was Karakura. He knew these souls, he knew Grimmjow, so relax.

 

Ichigo wasn’t sure when he let Grimmjow go, but he felt his hands, tentative on his head. His arrancar pulled him in close, wrapping his arms around him to pull him into an awkward embrace against his chest. It was an intense, confusing desire, to want to relax and retaliate, all at once. His conduit was quiet, holding him for several moments before he dared to speak again. “You’re really holding back.”

 

Ichigo grunted in agreement, prying his own teeth from his arm with a grimace. “What was your first clue?” 

 

Grimmjow fisted his hand in Ichigo’s hair and pulled, wrenching his head back to see his face. Eyes locked on his lips, Grimmjow spoke absently. “You drew blood.” Tempting fate, he dipped down to lick it from his lips. His tongue was warm, dragging a wet line along the curve of his lower lip, following it to the downward turn of his mouth.  

 

“Stupid,” Ichigo hissed. 

 

“Your chaperone isn't here,” Grimmjow said. As if that was permission enough to provoke. “You taste good, you know that?”

 

Ichigo made a chiding sound, tilting his head back and away as Grimmjow kissed and licked at the blood on his lips. “Doesn't mean much coming from a cannibal.”

 

Grimmjow growled back a word layered like an insult. “ _ God-eater _ .” Ichigo stiffened, turning his head away. Grimmjow let Ichigo put a stop to that kiss with a low laugh. “You taste pure, Kurosaki.”

 

“I don't know what that means. I ain't pure.”

 

Grimmjow smiled. “You're not. You taste like life, souls, power.” He tilted his head, debating stealing another kiss, so Ichigo braced a hand on Grimmjow's chest, physically holding back that thought. “Does it make you feel better to know I wanna eat you?”

 

“In a sexy way?” Ichigo asked.

 

Grimmjow scoffed, leaning back against the wall. “Yeah, Kurosaki, that too.”

 

Ichigo thought about it. It felt fair, in a way; justified. “A little.”

 

“I’ll take it.” Grimmjow prompted changed the subject. “We in Karakura?”

 

Ichigo blinked, impressed he’d noticed where they were. He didn’t think Grimmjow was stupid, but the arrancar persistently surprised him. Distracted, frustrated, threatened, even aroused, and he was still acutely aware of his surroundings. It only made him more desirable. “Yes, Chad sounded concerned.”

 

“Yet you brought me here and kissed me.”

 

Ichigo narrowed his eyes, feeling defensive. “I did.”

 

“Why here?”

 

“Just wanted a reminder of what else I had to lose.” Of what tied him to humanity that seemed to slip further and further away. He ran his forearm across his mouth but he wasn’t sure what it solved. He looked back at Grimmjow. “I can’t show up on Kisuke’s doorstep bloody.”

 

“You have before.”

 

“Didn't have a choice.”

 

The arrancar lifted his thumb to his mouth and rubbed away any evidence, his fingers brushing his cheek when he was done, tracing the dark swath of the markings striping his face. “Could have just used la sangre.”

 

“Didn’t want to.”

 

“Why, just to make me do it?”

 

“Maybe,” Ichigo said.

 

“Lazy bitch.”

 

Ichigo gave him a dry look, taking a slight step back. It was hard to step away from something he wanted; From something the God's wanted. So much of that was due to user error. If he could focus on something else for half a second maybe he could separate that things he wanted from impulses that weren't his own, but these sensations were brand new, he had nothing to compare against, no memory of who he was for reference, and it bothered him. 

 

What was a kiss even supposed to be like? He didn't think this was right, but it felt right.

 

Grimmjow pushed off the wall and took a purposeful step towards him. Ichigo took a step back. 

 

That drew a thoughtful scowl across Grimmjow's face, throwing his hands into his pockets for lack of anything to do with them. “Relax, Kurosaki, I'm not doing anything.” And that was a damn shame. 

 

Ichigo reached for him, and Grimmjow watched steadily as he raked his hand through his hair, pushing back loose strands and bringing some order back to the mess he'd made. Ichigo pulled a blade of grass and a crushed flower from blue locks and gave his handiwork a once over. “Good enough.”

 

Grimmjow raised a brow. “Just good enough? Savage.”

 

“ _ Very handsome. _ Feel better?”

 

The arrancar flashed his teeth in a smile. “Never called me handsome before.”

 

Ichigo was teasing, but it was true. Grimmjow had a rugged, sharp appeal he liked, but he wasn't going to give him any more of an ego over it. “Where’s  _ my _ compliment?”

 

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

 

Grimmjow’s voice held the same teasing edge, but it was rooted in a heavy reality. He was still there, despite all his shit and problems; he fought him, talked back, argued and whined, and it was the biggest compliment he could get from Grimmjow. Words weren't their strong suit, but actions meant everything. 

 

“We should go,” Ichigo said. 

 

Something too stifling to be disappointment hung over them both. Ichigo didn't like knowing that despite Grimmjow standing less than a foot away, he was still somewhat out of reach.

 

It was a bone deep ache, a chasm of loneliness he couldn't seem to breach. No matter how hard he fought to free himself from it, he kept getting pushed further and further away. He knew Grimmjow felt it, he couldn't hide sadness like that from him, but neither had any idea how to fix it. 

 

Fix, like some broken thing. The idea didn't sit well with him, not with Grimmjow's eyes locked on his own, so he looked away, and for that moment, Grimmjow pretended not to notice. He let him hide. 

 

Ichigo held out a hand to Grimmjow and without hesitation, he took it. They could moan over semantics, but he intended to stay.

 

Pulling them both through la sangre and into Kisuke’s courtyard, Ichigo dropped Grimmjow's hand. The arrancar took up a familiar spot beside him, just to his left. It was a both a thoughtful and cautious place to stand; it left Ichigo open to draw without gutting him and kept him in his peripheral.

 

Chad followed Kisuke from the shop, and while seeing Chad was something frequent, he hadn’t seen Kisuke since the night he’d woken up, stuck like this. Kisuke’s eyes raked over him, appraising, then flicked to Grimmjow. The shopkeeper saw a lot, Ichigo couldn’t be sure what he guessed, but he didn’t think he or Grimmjow were good enough liars to hide from him; Kisuke was merely kind enough to pretend he didn’t notice. “Looking good, Kurosaki-san.”

 

Ichigo scoffed. “Don’t lie to my face.”

 

“Tsk, I lie to you all the time,” Kisuke said.

 

“Yeah, but at least  _ try _ .” Ichigo looked away from Kisuke to Chad, offering his friend a stiff smile. “I wish I was here under better circumstances.”

 

The smile Chad gave him was wide, stepping up to him to put a hand on his shoulder. “The circumstances could be better, but it’s always good to see you, Ichigo.” His hand was warm and heavy on his shoulder, oddly comforting,  when normally he shied away from touch. He didn’t feel the urge to devour his friend, not by the spurring of any God. 

 

With his attention focused so intensely on his own reactions, it honestly surprised him the urge wasn't there. It was an odd feeling. Chad wasn't a conduit, but something about him was noticeably displaced from the world he stood in, and  he’d never noticed before.

 

Grimmjow noticed his quick acceptance of Chad's touch, the change in him was nearly instantaneous. He wouldn’t have ever pegged the arrancar as jealous, but that wound was still too raw and his jealousy was tempered by Alteza.

 

Grimmjow moved, but Ichigo was faster, always faster. 

 

Before Grimmjow could get his hands around Chad’s neck, Ichigo had them both at far end of the courtyard, throwing Grimmjow face down into the ground. He twisted one arm firmly between Grimmjow’s shoulders, his foot grinding his half drawn blade into concrete. 

 

Snarling like a trapped animal, Grimmjow screamed obscenities and insults, fixating his rage on Chad, but he wasn’t the source, just an easy target.

 

Chad looked as surprised as Kisuke, the shopkeeper looking between the three of them with raised brows, before admitting, “I feel like I’ve missed something.”

 

It was hard to hear his voice over the racket Grimmjow was making, but Ichigo worked it out. “It’s complicated,” Ichigo called back. 

 

Despite knowing exactly what was going through Grimmjow’s mind, Ichigo was pissed off too. He reminded himself it wasn’t entirely Grimmjow’s fault, but the desire to hurt him, _ punish him _ , was still present. He raised a hand to someone he cared for, and regardless of the reason why, it made him angry. 

 

Leaning down, Ichigo hissed, “ _ Cease _ , or so help me, Grimmjow, I will shatter your arm.”

 

To his credit, Grimmjow stopped squirming to free himself and snarled his insults at him instead. “Go fuck yourself.”

 

Ichigo leaned down even closer, pressing his knee between his shoulder blades and leaned in so close his breath tickled the nape of his neck. Curse the Gods, he wanted to bite him, dig trenches in the muscles bunched beneath him in rage. He hissed, “Just because I can stop you doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate you raising a hand to the people I care about. Do it again, and _ I will _ hurt you.”

 

For a few seconds, Grimmjow just breathed, his lungs struggling to expand under his weight. “He-”

 

“I don’t give a shit what your excuses are. This is your only warning.”

 

Grimmjow sagged into the pavement, the sharp edge of defeat ringing in his soul. Grimmjow felt he’d lost more than a  fight, and Ichigo couldn’t be sure how to fix it. 

 

Climbing up off his arrancar, Zangetsu muttered, **“What a fuckin’ mess.”**

 

Ichigo climbed up off of him and let him stand, humiliation shadowing the arrancar’s eyes. Ichigo couldn’t fix that with an apology or some words, Grimmjow’s access to his soul had fucked up any hope of that. One little touch was enough to rub in his face the things he couldn't have. And Ichigo had nothing more to say.

 

Turning back to Chad, Ichigo crossed back over to him, Grimmjow trailing behind him like a scorned cat. 

 

Chad started, “I didn’t mean to offend-”

 

“You didn’t do anything,” Ichigo cut him off. “Just forget about it.” That wasn’t going to happen, but he wasn’t going to drag all his problems into the light with an audience. The wary look Kisuke was giving him was bad enough.

 

Filing away the knowledge he’d just gained, Ichigo asked, “What did you ask me here for?”

 

Cursing how accusatory he sounded, Chad pretended not to notice, and if his feelings were hurt, he didn’t show it. “I met some people recently. People like me.”

 

Ichigo blinked at him, trying to reason what that meant. Grimmjow grumbled, “Big and tall?”

 

Chad elaborated. “Fullbringers.”

 

Ichigo’s eyes widened in understanding. He didn’t know the word, but it carried with it a mountain of implications. “Fullbringers? There are others like you?”

 

A small smile graced Chad’s face, something he tried to hide and failed. “Yes.” Ichigo recognized that look, he’d felt the same fluttering feeling of kinship before. It was nice to know you weren’t alone; he missed that feeling. But he’d killed his predecessors, that feeling wasn’t for him.

 

Chad shook his head and changed the subject. “But I didn't ask you here to talk about me. They’ve noticed something, and I think it’s best that you talk to them personally.”

 

“Noticed something?”

 

“They can explain it better than I can. I didn’t see it, but it involves the shinigami.”

 

Ichigo’s interest piqued. “Elaborate.”

 

The glance Chad shared with Kisuke was proof enough they had already spoken, and if Kisuke was silent, then he’d confronted something he had little expertise about. Ichigo tried not to jump to conclusions, but his gut told him this was far from coincidence. 

 

Chad said, “A Fullbringer saw a shinigami...killed, but they can't be sure what killed him.”

 

Ichigo stilled, his stomach churning in concern. “When?”

 

“Yesterday.”

 

That couldn't be right. Ichigo cast out his senses, delving into Sunyaya’s power with little regard for consequence. Any rage or anxiety he felt was sapped away by the cold indifference of entropy. Ichigo turned his thoughts inwards. _ ‘I didn't sense death, how is that possible?’ _ Eyes unfocused on the souls burning at the edge of his consciousness, he noticed there were  _ less _ .

 

His shinigami were being hunted. 

 

In his arrogance he thought he would feel a threat, and he’d been wrong. Instead, he'd been distracted, looking in the wrong place; he should have considered a thing that knew his name, knew  _ him _ , might hunt in the city he once called home.

 

_ “Do not blame yourself for this, Ichigo.” _

 

_ ‘He slipped beneath my notice. The signs were there, I’m just stupid.’ _

 

_ “This is an unknown threat, Ichigo, and a delicate game with rules we don’t yet understand. This was a misstep, learn from it. This is knowledge you didn’t have before. Use it.” _

 

Ossan was right. This thing was lying low, which meant it was weak. Not so weak it wouldn’t gloat to his face, but it   couldn’t challenge him yet, it was hunting stragglers, coasting beneath his notice.

 

Someone called his name, he wasn't sure who, but when he refocused before him, he noticed both Chad and Kisuke were a few paces back, and Grimmjow was almost directly before him, stepping into sight. Disagreement or not, Ichigo appreciated the gesture. Chad and Kisuke were afraid, putting himself between them was a bit of a diffuser. Grimmjow asked, “What do you sense?”

 

“It’s what I didn’t sense. Their souls are gone, I didn’t feel them die, and I don’t feel their death.” His voice sounded flat, even to him. Sunyata fucked his emotions, he knew that, but what he was feeling wasn't rage, it was too cold. 

 

Sunyata was paying attention; it Looked through him, and now it was a part of his hunt. It couldn't have Grimmjow, it couldn't have the Gotei 13, but it could reject  _ this _ , this  _ threat _ .

 

The worry in his arrancar tripled, and despite his posture and expression remaining the same, Ichigo saw a look  in his eyes he’d once thought was pity. Grimmjow asked, “You in there, Kurosaki?”

 

“Mostly.” The knee-jerk reaction to eliminate this threat only intensified, and he knew that wasn’t him. He shoved at Sunyata, but it clung to the core of his soul like taffy, and there was no true alternative. The Gods were restless; there was a wolf among their flock and its teeth were soaked with blood. 

 

Ichigo raised a hand to his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “They’re...needy.” Even with Sunyata at his fingertips, Alteza howled and die Konigin screamed. For once, amongst all the chaos, the Gods shared a target, and it was nauseating.

 

Kisuke spoke, “What set them off.”

 

Ichigo rubbed his temple. “Knowledge. The thing hunting the shinigami is a threat, to all of them, but their awareness is limited to my own.”

 

Ichigo turned the subject away from him, uninterested in lingering on things he couldn't change. “These Fullbringers have powers like yours?” 

 

“Yes,” Chad answered.

 

“Good, then they’ll be easy to find.”

 

Kisuke straightened, curious. “You’re notoriously bad at finding people, Kurosaki-san. Would you mind elaborating?”

 

Eyes slipping to Grimmjow, Ichigo chose his words carefully. “The Gods aren’t interested in Chad, I never noticed before, because I never thought to look.” He tilted his head. “That’s not true. Out of respect to you, I never tried to reach deeper in your soul. 

 

Chad’s brows raised. “What do you mean, Interested?”

 

“You’re different,” Ichigo said. “You’re not a child of die Konigin, Sunyata, or even Alteza...I admit I never gave it much thought. You power is hollowlike in nature, but ultimately, it exists outside of my control. I’m not sure what you are.”

 

Kisuke looked offended, and much more infested in the conversation than Chad. He eyed the fullbringer with a sharp light he often reserved for mischief. “And you never told me?”

 

Uncertain under this new attention, Chad fidgeted, and took a step away from the shopkeeper, asking Ichigo. “What does that mean for me?”

 

Ichigo paused and admitted, “I really don’t know, Chad.  I might have more of an answer if I meet other fullbringers.” The tension in the giant’s shoulders led Ichigo to realize the source of Chad’s concern. 

 

Chad had always had faith in him, but this version of himself, influenced by power forced onto him, he didn’t trust. If Sunyata wasn’t hanging around him so thickly the air shimmered like crystal, he might have felt bad about it. But he felt nothing. “I won’t hurt them.”

 

Chad nodded, but it was hesitant, unconvinced.

 

“Thanks for asking me here, Chad.” It wasn't a calculated risk, his friend wasn't like that. Chad was involving him out of respect for their friendship, nothing more and nothing less.

 

Ichigo dragged him and Grimmjow away through la sangre, pulling Rukia to him in the process, regardless of what she was doing. They stood now in a residential district in an alley, Rukia mid bite through instant noodles. She paused, disoriented, found Ichigo’s gaze, and shouted, “You left me!”

 

“We were busy!” Grimmjow snapped.

 

“I was bored!” She blinked, her annoyance crumbling as she took in Ichigo’s expression. “What happened?”

 

Ichigo sighed. “Eat your noodles, I’ll catch you up to speed.”

 

\--- xxx ---

 

**Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez**

  
  


Blue eyes scanned the rooftops, empty streets, and saw no one, sensing nothing but the dusty hum of unfamiliar reiatsu. “Someone’s watching us,” Grimmjow rumbled.

 

“Very astute,” Kurosaki said blithely.

 

Grimmjow swiveled to face him. “Don’t you care?”

 

“It’s annoying, but if it makes them feel better…” Kurosaki shrugged it off, his attention still locked elsewhere, on ungrateful fuckin’ shinigami, with a godlike level of surveillance that required him to use Sunyata. That fucking bitch of a God that flatlined everything about Kurosaki he loved.

 

He hated it, and Kurosaki knew it, so the demigod wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t acknowledge the soft breaking of a fresh promise. Rukia didn’t notice their tension, she was focused on other issues. She had eaten her noodles with distracted perseverance, and now she sat, scrunched up on the curb in thought. “Did you call me here to watch me?”

 

Without moving from his spot against the wall, Kurosaki’s eyes slid to her, brows creasing. “I might have.”

 

“You’re worried.”

 

“...Yeah.” Kurosaki folded his arms, a weird mannerism, given how much it restricted movement. This wasn’t a nervous or defensive gesture, he was holding back. 

 

The hybrid felt guilty, that’s for fuckin’ sure, and Grimmjow wasn’t sure how to change his mind. Did it hurt that Kurosaki's friend happened to be one of the people he didn't want to devour? Did it feel unfair that he couldn’t be that person? Hell yes it did. But he'd carry on anyway. 

 

He stared long enough that Kurosaki began to notice. The hybrid’s eyes fell to his lips, brows creasing in distress, even with his shallow grip on Sunyata.

 

Grimmjow was seconds away from saying something when a man strolled up to them from the end of the street. He wasn’t a soul, and he wasn’t some random human. He could see them, that was certain, but whatever power he had was masked. Black hair was slicked back from his face, but some strands had come free, falling into his face in a look that reminded him too much of Aizen. He already hated him.

 

The man walked from a cloud of warm afternoon light into shadow and stopped. A band of light cut between the buildings and obscured the man from his night sight, but that wouldn’t bother Kurosaki, and Grimmjow bitterly hoped this stranger didn’t know that. He was still pissed and resentful and if he couldn’t take it out on Kurosaki’s friend, he’d take it out on this stranger.

 

The man called out. “Are you Kurosaki Ichigo?”

 

Kurosaki made a sound of agreement, but didn't leave his place against the wall. Rukia straightened and called back. “Who's asking?”

 

The man shifted his weight, his feet square beneath his shoulders. Rukia tensed along with Grimmjow, both anticipating a fight. The man didn’t answer their question. “Thought Kurosaki Ichigo was a substitute shinigami. You look like an arrancar.”

 

Grimmjow tightened his hands into fists. “And you look like a prick.”

 

“Wasn’t talking to you,  _ arrancar _ .”

 

The insult layered in that word pissed Grimmjow off. “Answer,” he called back.

 

The man was silent, and Rukia slowly lifted her hand to rest on the hilt of her sword. The man smiled, flashing white teeth and raised his hands, the picture of nonchalant innocence. “No need for violence.” He let his arms fall, his center of gravity still poised to defend or attack, it could go either way. “Call me Kugo.”

 

Rukia’s brows furrowed in recognition, her hand tightening on the hilt. Kurosaki separated himself from the wall and reminded her. “We’re not here to fight, Rukia.”

 

“I’m not going to talk to her,” Kugo said.

 

“Why not?” Kurosaki asked.

 

“Don’t like shinigami,” Kugo responded. His tone was light, but there was a weight in his words Grimmjow could pinpoint and recognize. He honestly felt the same way, which only served to piss him off. Seemed shinigami weren’t much liked by anyone.

 

Kurosaki took a couple of steps to stand beside Rukia, reaching for her shoulder. Grimmjow half expected her to jump at his touch, but she eased into it, brows drawn tight into feigned annoyance. Her hand fled the hilt like she’d been caught and she let out a tense breath in a rush. “Fine, but I’m only moving out of earshot.”

 

Kurosaki’s hand briefly rested on her shoulder, then he stepped around her. “Thanks, Rukia.” He dropped his voice, but Grimmjow could still hear. “Sorry this is such a mess.”

 

Rukia glanced to Grimmjow, of all people, bit her lip and hissed, “Fool.” In a blur of shunpo, she was safely out of earshot, directly on the building above them.

 

“Him too,” Kugo said, jerking his head towards Rukia’s new perch. Grimmjow ground his teeth, taking that to be even more of an insult than it was probably meant to be. All these barriers between him and what he wanted, and this asshole was going to add one more?

 

“No,” said Kurosaki. “He stays.”

 

Grimmjow looked to him in surprise. All it cost him for this conversation was a sliver of Grimmjow’s pride, but he wasn’t willing to concede, no matter how foolish it might be. It felt good to be chosen, even over something trite.

 

Kugo’s was voice thick with derision. “I don’t care much for arrancar either, you see.”

 

“I don’t give a damn,” Kurosaki said. “It isn’t up for negotiation.”

 

“Then maybe our meeting was premature.” Kugo reached for his neck, and from the metallic glint, he was fingering a necklace. “Maybe a few more shinigami need to die.”

 

Kurosaki’s shoulders tightened at the threat, his voice low enough Grimmjow knew Kugo would need to strain to hear it. “I’ve been polite, Kugo, more than I think you deserve out of respect for Chad, but I’m in no mood for threats. Do you want to talk, or not?”

 

Grimmjow couldn't make out Kugo's expression, but he hoped he was annoyed. The man finally shrugged and asked, “What do you know about fullbringers?”

 

“Assume I know nothing,” Kurosaki said.

 

The man twisted his necklace in his fingers, dropped it, then crossed through the band of light to stand at a more reasonable speaking distance. He wasn’t close, but he didn’t look like he trusted them worth a damn either. The man explained, “There’s a soul in all things, fullbringers can manipulate the soul that resides in physical matter.”

 

Kurosaki seemed unsettled by that information. The hybrid didn’t let it show, but Grimmjow felt the twist of surprise.

 

Grimmjow asked, “So what the fuck does that have to do with a shinigami dyin’ on your turf?”

 

Dark eyes slid to him, not altogether fond of acknowledging him. “The way he died is relevant.”

 

“Explain,” Kurosaki said.

 

“Should I?” Of course the fucker wouldn’t give it to them for free.

 

“What do you want?” Kurosaki demanded. Grimmjow looked at him, wondering if he couldn't just take what he wanted, or if he was making an effort not to. Sometimes it was hard to tell. 

 

“Just confirmation.” The man tried to keep the interest from his voice, but he failed. “Was Seireitei destroyed?”

 

After a moment to contemplate the truth, Kurosaki said, “It’s gone.

 

Sharp satisfaction sharpened the stranger’s features, a small smile quirking his lips in sadistic glee that could only come from someone seeking vengeance. Grimmjow knew that smile, it burned like acid in his gut when he’d first seen the damage done. “They say you did it,” Kugo said.

 

“They?” Kurosaki asked. 

 

“Shinigami. The damage done to Karakura turned some heads. So did you do it?”

 

“No.”

 

Kugo’s intensity burned off at that answer, asking, “Where’s the guy that did it?”

 

Grimmjow growled, “It ain’t an interrogation.”

 

Foiling his desire to give this asshole nothing, Kurosaki answered, “I killed him.”

 

Kugo shrugged. “That’s a pity. Would’a been nice to meet face to face.”

 

Kurosaki took a step forward, and to Grimmjow’s satisfaction, Kugo took a small step back. Kurosaki’s voice was calm, steady, but Grimmjow heard the undercurrent of violence just as much as Kugo. “Now isn’t a good time. I don’t know what you want from me, but you’re not going to find it. Talk, or I’m leaving.”

 

Kugo pushed his hair back from his face and turned to walk away. “Take it down a notch, I ain't interested in a fight.”

 

“Where the fuck you goin’?” Grimmjow snapped.

 

Kugo paused, looking back. “Relax. Thought you'd wanna see the body.”

 

“You kept the body?” Kurosaki asked. 

 

“What was I supposed to do, leave him in the street?”

 

Grimmjow didn’t think his so called charity had anything to do with goodwill, but at the moment he had no reason to fear him. Kugo moved away again and Kurosaki followed, throwing a gesture to ‘stay put’ up at Rukia. Grimmjow was surprised that Kugo turned his back to them when he was already so cautious, but the feeling of being watched hadn't dissipated, so it wasn't a stretch to think someone was watching his back for him.

 

The man led them only a single street over, to a building that seemed from the outside to be abandoned. He took out a small black card, swiping it in on a keypad by a thick steel door. There was a soft mechanical click and he swung open the door into a dimly lit room.

 

He stepped in, gesturing for them to go ahead. Kurosaki didn't hesitate, but he had absolutely nothing to fear from these people. It went against Grimmjow's nature to blindly follow a potential threat directly into their shitty lair, but his pride didn't let him reconsider following. 

 

It seemed like some sort of bar or lounge, populated by a stoic, older bartender, and what looked to be a kid hunched over a game. Neither felt particularly powerful, but Grimmjow kept his guard up anyway. 

 

The kid didn't even look up from his game and the bartender carried on as if they weren't even there. Rude, to be so confident they wouldn't even acknowledge strangers.

 

“Nice clubhouse,” Grimmjow muttered. “I half expected a 'no shinigami allowed’ sign.”

 

Kugo gave him a sour look, but it was the kid that spoke. “Your sense of humor is just as bad as your style.”

 

“What was that?” Grimmjow snapped.

 

“You're not even wearing a shirt,”  Kugo said.

 

Kurosaki grabbed his arm before he could cero his smug fucking face and said, “Just take us to the body.”

 

Kugo’ eyes went from Grimmjow’s hand, to Kurosaki, and said, “If you break my bar, you buy it.”

 

“Good luck collecting payment,” Kurosaki said dryly.

 

Kugo's brows shot up. “So you  _ do _ have a personality.”

 

The look Kurosaki shot Kugo was nothing but pissed, but Grimmjow knew that remark struck a little too close to the mark. The arrancar said, “You heard him, show him the body, or I’m gonna start breaking shit.”

 

“Control your arrancar,” Kugo said, tone dropping in condescension.

 

Kurosaki let go of Grimmjow’s wrist, which was more of a statement than if he’d spoken. “He’s not a pet,” he said, yet the look he shot Grimmjow was weary. Fine, he wouldn’t cero the bar. He’d wait until they got what they needed.

 

The fullbringer voiced his disapproval with a hiss of air sucked between clenched teeth. He turned to cross to the back of the bar without any further preamble, and Kurosaki followed closely behind him. 

 

They were brought to a back room, the shinigami laying across two tables that had been shoved together. Grimmjow didn’t know him, but from the subtle tension in Kurosaki, the hybrid did. There was no panic in his heart, this wasn’t a lost friend, but he did recognize him. 

 

There wasn’t a mark on the shinigami; it just seemed he was asleep, but he was too still, too silent. It creeped Grimmjow out.

 

Kurosaki stepped up to the table, reaching out to touch the shinigami on the arm.  It might seem like a tender gesture from the outside, but Grimmjow knew better, it was as calculated as they came, and Kurosaki’s emotions were far from reach. 

 

Without removing his hand, Kurosaki frowned to Kugo. “He’s alive.”

 

Kugo frowned back, just as confused as Grimmjow was by that statement. “I think I know a dead body when I see it.”

 

“Look at him,” Kurosaki insisted. “This is wrong.”

 

“I see a dead body,” Kugo reiterated. 

 

The hybrid frowned down at the shinigami, his grip on his wrist tightening. His voice was soft enough that Grimmjow didn’t think Kugo could hear him from the door. “You don’t see…”

 

Sensing the heightening doubt in the hybrid, Grimmjow was worried he was on the edge of mania. He offered, “Creeps me the fuck out, but I dunno why.”

 

“His soul is gone,” Kurosaki said. “This isn’t supposed to happen.” He dropped his hand, and looked back to Kugo. “This is what you wanted me to see?”

 

“Apparently. A fullbringer manipulates soul, it’s in everything; people are the obvious offenders, but soul is in the ground, this building, the air...The area he was found was devoid of soul. It was barren. Whatever killed him did something I’ve never seen before.”

 

Kurosaki watched Kugo strangely, a shock of cold fear in the hybrid’s heart startling Grimmjow. Kurosaki was afraid? Grimmjow sensed he knew more than he was letting on, but he didn’t trust Kugo, not by a long shot. “Show me a fullbring,”  Kurosaki demanded.

 

Kugo’s suspicion skyrocketed at the demand. He tensed, shifting his weight defensively, and said, “You’ve seen Chad’s, many times. Why mine?”

 

“I’ve only seen Chad’s,”  Kurosaki said, “I need to see another.”

 

“If I refuse?”

 

Grimmjow expected violence, but it was still a shock to blink, and find Kurosaki was across the room, slamming Kugo into the wall. The drywall cracked under he weight, a long, double edged sword suddenly barred between them, held to Kurosaki’s throat. 

 

The hybrid was still afraid, but it had nothing to do with Kugo. Removing his hand from the fullbringer’s chest, Kurosaki ignored the sword at his neck and stepped back. “I have what I need. I’m taking the body.” It wasn’t a request, and enemy or no, Kurosaki usually left the illusion of choice. For some reason that mentality didn’t extend to this situation. Grimmjow had to wonder why.

 

Kugo’s skin shone with nervous sweat, letting go of  a stilted exhaled as he straightened from the wall. The two fullbringers beyond the door had stopped moving, all of their attention on Kurosaki. 

 

In an attempt to swing back control, Kugo snapped, “Take him. As if I need a body rotting in my bar.”

 

Kurosaki stared at Kugo with such intensity and stillness, the fullbringer began to fidget. Not even Grimmjow could read the thoughts behind those eyes, and he remembered how deeply unsettling it was to be the center of such focus. 

 

For Grimmjow, it was a pleasant thrill to have the full attention of someone he desperately loved, be it negative or not. But for a stranger, they might not know if they were going to make it out from beneath that gaze alive.

 

Whatever Kurosaki was looking for, he either found it, or gave up, because he turned to the body on the table. Kugo visibly relaxed, his brows drawn tight. Dark eyes lingered on vulnerabilities, and while the fullbringer couldn't harm Kurosaki, it pissed off Grimmjow enough that he stepped between them.

 

Instead of sending the body through la sangre, Kurosaki bent and picked him up, bridal style. Something about that struck a chord of deep sadness in the hybrid, but he buried it well. He turned and warned, “I'll be back, Kugo.”

 

“I'm not looking forward to it,” Kugo said.

 

In a curtain of dark, they were suddenly standing at the top of the same building they'd left Rukia on. She immediately stood, then her eyes fell to the shinigami in his arms. Her jaw tightened, filling in the blanks with information and preconceptions even Grimmjow didn’t think he had.

 

“Kugo didn't kill him.” Kurosaki felt the urge to defend Kugo, and Grimmjow couldn't fathom why.

 

“Not this time,” she said. There was an accusation there steeped in distaste.

 

“You know him?” Kurosaki asked.

 

“He killed shinigami, he stole their powers.”

 

“Like I stole yours,” Kurosaki answered bitterly.

 

She flinched, and Grimmjow felt he was missing some history.

 

“Stop talking over my head,” Grimmjow growled.

 

“There's nothing to tell,” Kurosaki said. “I don't trust the word of Seireitei.” His eyes fell to Rukia. “And neither should you.”

 

“It won't be a problem,” Rukia answered, voice clipped. “Seireitei is gone.”

 

“Their secrets and lies aren't,” Kurosaki said. He sounded annoyed, even watered down by Sunyata. Before Rukia could start an argument, he said, “I’m sending you back to Soul Society.” The tone of his voice was a touch different, he wasn’t talking to her as a friend, but something else.

 

Setting the shinigami down on the ground, Kurosaki's eyes lingered on the body, unsettled. “I’d bring him back myself, but I don't want to leave my family unprotected.” 

 

Whatever argument Rukia had been preparing died in her throat, real concern darkening her expression. “You think they're at risk?” Which explained why he would send Rukia away. She was his friend, but his family always came first.

 

Kurosaki said, “It was naive to think they wouldn't be. My father is strong, but this is something else entirely.”

 

Rukia looked down at the shinigami and let out a slow breath, her demeanor shifting ever so slightly. Her shoulders squared and she looked back to Kurosaki. “What do I tell the Soutaichou? How did he die?”

 

Kurosaki was quiet, and not for a lack of an answer. He was hiding something from them, he was choosing his words carefully. A terrible liar, bit it was still a lie. He said, “Inoue was killed outside of this world, outside all of them. She's never coming back.” His gaze fell on the shinigami. “Neither is he.”

 

“But he was killed here, in Karakura.”

 

“And the result is the same. He doesn't exist, this body is like a ghost. An empty imprint.”

 

Understanding hit Grimmjow and Rukia at the same time. This thing was beyond dangerous. If getting caught by this thing meant true death, no reincarnation, no afterlife, just poof...it was no wonder Kurosaki was refusing to leave Karakura. A dead shinigami on his doorstep was as good as a threat. 

 

Now Grimmjow understood Kurosaki’s dissociation. This could have been a friend, a sister, a father. The hybrid wasn’t just annoyed, he was fucking pissed. But he was also scared. 

 

Called itself Shinigami...for the first time, grimmjow thought he might fear death. A sudden stop, one that could come anytime, from anywhere. This thing could move from Soul Society to Living World. That must mean it could move to Hueco Mundo as well. No one was safe.

 

“You still can't track this fucker?” Grimmjow asked.

 

The look Kurosaki gave him said it all, Sunyata or not. “I can’t sense anything.” Which meant the Fullbringers  were their best shot. 

 

Kurosaki turned to Rukia and asked, “Ready?”

 

Some of her mask slipped and she gave him a look full of support and concern. It was a look Grimmjow had only been on the receiving end once in this life, and he finally understood the desperation people would go to to have it. She said, “Good luck, Ichigo. Be careful.”

 

His expression softened, even if he didn’t manage a smile. “I’ll try.” The light bent and shimmered in a beautiful kaleidoscope of color, and they were sent away, off to Soul Society. 

 

“I hate being ignorant,” Kurosaki muttered.

 

“What weren’t you teling Kugo?”  Grimmjow amended that statement. “What aren’t you telling  _ me _ ?”

 

Kurosaki scoffed, “Kind of ruins a secret if I tell you, doesn’t it?” Grimmjow opened his mouth to argue, but Kurosaki cut him off. “I wish I didn’t know, I won’t burden you with it too.” From his tone, it wasn’t a topic he was willing to indulge or argue.

 

The hybrid turned to face him, his face falling in distress now that they were alone. “I’m being used.” He bared his teeth in a need for violence so strong, Grimmjow took a step back. “I hate being manipulated.”

 

“Kurosaki…” Grimmjow didn’t really know what to say. He hated it too, but he wasn’t sure what to do about this. He was delegated to standing there, a useless prop. He couldn’t barely even touch Kurosaki, his presence was just hollow comfort at best.

  
  


Kurosaki let go of Sunyata, seizing die Konigin. He saw the flare in his eyes, he heard the screams through the reverberation in Kurosaki’s soul. Letting out a slow, calming breath, Kurosaki spoke, his voice on unsteady ground. “I’m scared for my family. It knows me, it knows I’ll protect them. It picked off stranglers I wouldn’t notice, then came straight here, straight to Karakura. It’s getting what it wants; unprotected prey.” Panic slipped into his voice unbidden. “I can’t protect everyone, I can’t.”

 

Grimmjow reached for him without thought, gripping his hair in his hands. “ _ Hey _ .” He got his attention, golden eyes locked on his own. Kurosaki looked at him. Not through him, beyond or between. He looked. “You could never protect everyone, that’s not on you. You  _ try _ , Kurosaki, more than you fuckin’ should. You know how I feel about it, I don’t think you owe them shit, who cares  _ what _ you are? It ain’t your responsibility. Your responsibility is to yourself.”

 

“I have the ability to help, I should–”

 

“Says who?”

 

“No one else will do it. No one else can.”

 

“Arrogant,” Grimmjow hissed, his hands tightening in Kurosaki’s hair.

 

Kurosaki smiled at the insult, a self deprecating smile. “Yeah...arrogant.”

 

Grimmjow was struck with the thought that he should say something. He loved him, through and through, but saying it was so hard. So he said nothing, but he didn't think he had to. Kurosaki knew now. Untwining his hands from his hair, Grimmjow rested his palm against the side of Kurosaki’s neck. So tense, so anxious, so fearful. Someone so strong should be above that, yet he felt it more than ever. What a fucking idiot. Grimmjow said, “You gonna bring that Kugo bastard to us?”

 

Kurosaki smiled. “How did you know?”

 

“You’re in a mood.”

 

The smile that lit up his face was off, teetering too closely to violence. “Yeah,” he said, “I think I am.”

 

He yanked Kugo through die Konigin with no regard to consequence. Kugo staggered, doubling over to rest his palms on his knees. Grimmjow took a swift step back right as he threw up. He had the forethought to catch his necklace before he puked on it, but he wasn’t gonna be in good shape for awhile.

 

Kurosaki pat his back, and it was far from friendly. “It’ll pass. I have some questions for you, Kugo.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Queen of cockblock SHAME ON ME. I read all your reviews guys! D> ALl of them, many times. I feel like I need to give you a chapter before I respond, and then I end up taking forever. Everything you guys say means a ton to me! It's nice to not write into the abyss ; ^ ; Thanks for reading guys!


	6. Salvific

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salvific: having the intent or power to save or redeem

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

He didn’t like being the bad guy. At least, that’s what he told himself. He really wasn’t sure anymore what it was that brought him joy in hurting others. Was it control? Aizen stripped it from him with casual ease. The Gods stole his very soul out from under his feet. If he relished  control over others, hurting and maiming, then why allow Grimmjow to do the same to him? Why enjoy it? 

 

It was distressing, to not know which facet was true, or if they were both him, twisted and broken, flames fanned by the chorus and silence of the Gods. Thinking about it was disturbing, so he tried not to. Grimmjow was his restraint, his conscience. He thought that scared people, that an arrancar––a violent arrancar––was the only thing standing between them and oblivion.  Well, that was an exaggeration, but it was becoming increasingly true. What they didn’t hear was Zangetsu in his soul, whispering reassurances and shouting obscenities. He wasn't alone, not really.

 

Ichigo had Kugo sitting cross legged, wrapped up in la sangre. If the dark hurt him any more or less than an arrancar, Ichigo couldn't tell, but he was okay enough to shout obscenities. “If this is how you make friends, no wonder you're a fucking loner.”

 

That kind of stung, but Kugo was a stranger, and as far as digs went, it could be worse. Ichigo reached for the necklace that lay on his chest, lifting it to study it. “Don't need new friends.”

 

“Great,” Kugo growled, “Feeling's mutual. That's mine.”

 

“I don't sense anything.”

 

“Cause you aren't a fullbringer. Drop it.”

 

Ichigo studied it inside and out. The God's could “see” it, but they weren't interested. Curious. Ichigo let it slip from his fingers. It swung back down  to thud against Kugo’s chest, and worthless in the face of Gods or not, it seemed to reassure him. Ichigo couldn’t blame him, it would make him feel better too. Ichigo said, “Take me to where the shinigami was killed.”

 

“After this?” Kugo let out breathy laughter carried on an exhale. He shook his head. “I don't think so.”

 

Ichigo rolled his eyes. “Don’t pretend you were ever going to cooperate. You were never going to show me.” Kugo narrowed his eyes and held his tongue. Probably a wise choice, Ichigo didn’t think he’d have the restraint for that if he were in Kugo’s shoes. He hated being caught. Loathed it.

 

Ichigo crouched so they were at eye level, resting his elbows on his knees. Those brown eyes held him in callous disregard. He knew that look, he’d seen it many times before. This was a man with a goal, a man ready and willing to kill and use people to get what he wanted. But they were also the eyes of someone that knew loss. Only loss could harden someone like that, and set them so firmly on their path.

 

“I've known a lot of people with eyes like that.” Ichigo looked between his eyes, wondering if it would do him any good to infiltrate his soul with die Konigin. He wasn't Quincy. Even with power in his blood, Ichigo couldn't be sure he wouldn't kill him by accident. He tightened his grip on la sangre, sinking just skin deep, and accused, “Manipulator.”

 

Kugo paled, pain flashing in his eyes. “You don’t know me, kid.”

 

“No,” Ichigo agreed. “But I know what you are.”

 

Instead of arguing, Kugo changed his tune. “The shinigami aren't your friends.”

 

“I know,” Ichigo said. He didn’t think Kugo was expecting that response, he barely had time to hide his shock. “The friends I have, I know as individuals. I’m well aware of the dangers of Seireitei. Their power is in people, not some sekiseki and a big wall. Seireitei may be gone, but I'm not stupid enough to think it's influence died with it.”

 

“The shinigami are a plague.”

 

“Noted,” Ichigo said dryly. He turned the conversation back on Kugo. “I think you believe you're a lot smarter than you are.”

 

Kugo’s face twisted into a grimace. “You saying you're smarter than me?”

 

“No,” Ichigo smiled to himself. “But I've killed a lot of smarter men.” Kugo swayed back, and Grimmjow took a step closer. Ichigo’s voice dropped in pitch. “People that thought they could trick me.” He wasn’t so stupid, not always. He at least knew when he was being used. Didn’t mean he could stop it, but he could try.

 

Ichigo asked, “What do you  _ think _ you want with me, Kugo?”

 

“Condescending prick,” Kugo snarled. “I know what I want, and it’s none of your business.”

 

Ichigo reached for him. He didn’t move fast, or slow, he simply wrapped his hand around his throat, and stood. He   squeezed hard enough lift him, and gravity did the work for him. “I really don’t like being used, Kugo.” The fullbringer struggled against la sangre, but he’d have better luck tearing open a garganta with his teeth; he wasn’t going anywhere. 

 

His face turned a deep shade of red even before his feet had left the ground. La sangre was already a strain on him, adding to it was making this swift.

 

It was fascinating, to have the spark of a living soul in his hand. He could feel the sea of hundreds, thousands...millions of lives, but they hovered outside his focus like fog. Right here, beneath his palm, was a life. A life he could snuff out. And why shouldn’t he?

 

“Kurosaki.”  Grimmjow’s voice sounded strange. “You’re going to kill him.”

 

For a brief second, Ichigo considered the downside, then struggled to find one. “Maybe I want to.”

 

Grimmjow’s hand fell to his arm, brows drawn tight in stress. “Remember why you’re here.”

 

Ichigo blinked at him, then at his hand, tight on forearm. He returned his gaze to Kugo. The fullbringer gasped for air, his right eye bled red, a blood vessel staining his sclera. 

 

Grimmjow tried again. “You told your friend you wouldn't hurt him. You lied.”

 

He lied. Ichigo dropped Kugo. The fullbringer crumpled in a heap at his feet, chest heaving for air. Just a pinned mouse, struggling in his claws. 

 

He lied a lot those days, what was one more life? The life of a stranger that would use him if he could.

 

**“King, listen to koneko.”**

 

_ 'Why?’ _

 

Ossan's voice surprised him, he was so quiet those days. “ _ You're slipping, this isn't you.” _

 

“Isn't it?” He didn't mean to say that out loud, but it felt necessary to talk over the whispers and screams in his head.

 

_ “The God's are restless, Ichigo, and the pain may have dulled, but do not forget the monsters whose teeth have seized you.” _

 

“Monsters…” Ichigo repeated. He felt Grimmjow’s eyes on him like a heavy weight, his words ringing in his head as loudly as Ossan’s. He lied, and he felt nothing.

 

Getting his legs beneath him, Kugo looked up, his expression closer to fear than rage. He choked, “You're crazy.”

 

He thought that should hurt to hear, but from prey, from a stranger, it meant alarmingly little. “Everyone says it,” Ichigo said absently. “It must be true.” He studied the fullbringer, and realized ossan was right. They were all right, this wasn't him.

 

Kugo expressed a desire to use him, but nothing had come of it. Would he really kill someone for nothing. So far he’d even helped him. Despite that, he didn’t have it in him to apologize. 

 

Being around a fullbringer was dangerous, the God's were out for blood and something about this man stank of prey.

 

Ichigo took a steady step back and said, “Believe it or not, but I kind of like you, Kugo.”

 

“Is that supposed to make me  happy?”

 

“No, but you should know I understand you. We’re a lot alike.”

 

Kugo stood, hand around his neck and scowled, his lip curled in disgust. “How could you possibly know? You’re friend is in my bar every other weekend, your family is a few blocks west; you know nothing.”

 

“What the fuck do you know?” Grimmjow snapped. Ichigo shot Grimmjow a look, and that was all he needed for the arrancar to back down. Ichigo said, “You think I don’t understand loss. Revenge?” 

 

Ichigo didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t want to explain. He didn’t think it would sway Kugo’s opinion, and he didn’t want to share. It was no surprise to Ichigo that the fullbringer didn’t know anything about him. He’d seen him as a substitute shinigami, and no shinigami that knew his circumstances would have ever had contact with Kugo. 

 

It was fascinating, to be face to face with someone who thought they knew him, but were struggling and doubting their own preconceptions. It was easier to see on a stranger than someone he loved, but the resemblance was there nonetheless.

 

Ichigo had seen that look before, many times. Often from Grimmjow. 

 

Ichigo made a thoughtful sound in the growing silence and repeated, “We’re a lot alike.”

 

“You're nothing like him,” Grimmjow hissed.

 

Ichigo turned to look at his conduit with a frown. That just wasn’t true, but there was no sense arguing. “Take me to where the shinigami was killed, Kugo.”

 

The fullbringer leveled him with a calculating look, then it fell through and he said bluntly, “I’m not doing that for nothing.”

 

“Are you stupid?” Grimmjow growled. “Do you wanna die?” 

 

Ichigo held back the very real urge to hurt the fullbringer. He paused, clenching his jaw, and hoped that pause didn’t appear thoughtful. “I don’t have time to fulfill your requests.”

 

Kugo gingerly prodded his neck, winced, and said, “Then give me an I.O.U.”

 

“Can you really trust a liar?” Ichigo asked.

 

“I'll take my chances,” Kugo said.

 

Ichigo wasn't interested in entertaining that demand a anyway. “No.”

 

Kugo swayed back, disengaging from the confrontation. “Then you'll get nothing from me.”

 

Ichigo's hand shot out for Kugo's face, his claws digging into the side of his head. La sangre sank into his skin, and he reached for his memories like he might a hollow. Kugo screamed, and while he could feel the darkness in his soul, it told him nothing. He wasn't trying to be gentle, but it seemed a full bringer was too different from a hollow.

 

Frustrated, Ichigo let him go. Kugo’s scream stopped short and he doubled over, panting,  “What the fuck is that shit?”

 

Ichigo didn’t feel inclined to answer. If Kugo didn’t  feel forthcoming, than he wouldn’t be either. “What do you want, Kugo?”

 

The fullbringer coughed and sat back on his heels.  “Kill the Gotei 13.”

 

Ichigo snorted.  

 

“The Soutaichou.”

 

“No. I’m not killing anyone for you.”

 

“Then we’re done.”

 

Ichigo frowned at him, hands clenched, and tried to think instead of lash out. “What about the truth?”  Kugo’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “The shinigami called you a killer. I doubt that’s what happened. Would you settle for the truth?”

 

“No.” Kugo didn’t even have to think twice.

 

“It's an equal exchange. You get your side of the story told, and you show me where he was killed. I never asked you to give up on revenge, that has nothing to do with me.”

 

“Thought the shinigami were your friends? You’d just let me carry on, plotting to kill them?” His tone was a touch facetious, but he was no less serious.

 

“I have friends who happen to be shinigami, and I can’t afford to make them an enemy again.”

 

Kugo scoffed. “Why not? You’re strong enough you could wipe them out in a heartbeat.”

 

“That’s exactly why,” Ichigo answered. “Now get up, tell me where to go.”

 

Ichigo broke his hold on la sangre and Kugo shakily stood. He put his hand out. “Shake on it.”

 

Ichigo eyed his hand,  then raised his eyes to meet Kugo’s. “Are you going to trust a liar?” 

 

“Do I have a choice?” Kugo countered.

 

Ichigo narrowed his eyes, still deeply uncomfortable locking himself to his own word, despite however strong he may be. He reached out and took the fullbringers hand, both of them unhappy about the compromise, but he heard once that was the telltale sign of a good deal, so maybe things had gone well. Or maybe he’d remembered wrong.

 

Ichigo said, “Tell me where I’m taking us.”

 

“You’re not taking me through that shit again,” Kugo snarled. 

 

“You’re sturdy, you’ll live.”

 

Kugo  looked unimpressed. Grimmjow goaded, “Don’t be a pussy, it won’t kill ya.”

 

The look Kugo shot him was murderous, but when his attention returned to Ichigo, his voice was surprisingly steady. “Can I have my  hand back?”

 

Ichigo tightened his grip, hard enough to grind bones together. “No.”

 

“What is it?” Kugo demanded instead. “I can’t feel a lick of reiatsu on you, but I know you have it. That shit isn’t reiatsu.”

 

“It doesn’t concern you,” Grimmjow growled. 

 

Ichigo agreed, so he had nothing to add to that threat.  He tightened his grip enough to make Kugo wince. “Give me a place, Kugo.”

 

Kugo’s annoyance was clear, but he seemed resigned to cooperate. “The old convenience store down by the school.”

 

Ichigo's stomach bottomed out. He dropped Kugo’s hand before he broke it, and the cause of his panic didn’t go unnoticed by Grimmjow. 

 

Ichigo turned, pulling the three of them through la sangre as he did. He stood in the middle of the road, empty and dark, and recognized it. He knew this road too well, his sisters walked to and from school by it nearly every day.

  
  


Anger didn’t even begin to cover how he felt. The streetlights lining the road flickered, then burst, leaving them in true darkness. “DON'T HIDE FROM ME!” he roared. His voiced bounced back to him off of cold concrete and empty buildings and fell flat. There was no life here, no moths to dance around a light, no bugs to sing; the street was as dead as the shinigami tasked with protecting it.

 

But he felt the attention now. Something deeper than his awareness. His voice hadn't fallen on deaf ears. “SHINIGAMI! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!”

 

The breeze shifted, dragging leaves over the ground with the scrape and skid of brittle death. A wind chime hummed someplace distant then settled, and the stillness spread like fingers over the nape of his neck. “I want you, godling.”

 

Ichigo stiffened. He didn't take the bait. There was nothing there, there was  _ nothing _ and no one to face. “You can't have me,”  he snarled.

 

“That's,” it sighed, it's voice a soft whisper in his ear, “a shame.”

 

Ichigo lashed out with the full force of the God's, swarming over his skin in racing lines of shimmering dark and light and void. The voice was gone, but the presence lingered, heavy and still. It felt real, but he knew there was nothing.

 

Grimmjow hovered nearby in a nervous crouch. Ichigo knew he felt the threat, but he was unsure which was a bigger threat, Ichigo, or this unknown force. 

 

Kugo was nervous, but he didn’t have the same insight Grimmjow did when it came to Alteza. Ichigo left him standing in the road, suddenly beside Grimmjow. He rested his hand on the back of his neck, a gesture that  both reassured the arrancar and riled him up. Ichigo called out to Kugo. “Do you feel it?”

 

The fullbringer was damp with nervous sweat, although it could have been due to his contact with Alteza. He licked his lips, eyes frantically searching for an enemy he couldn’t see, and couldn’t fight. “Yeah, I feel it.”

 

“Where is it?” Ichigo demanded.

 

Kugo looked at him like he was insane, so Ichigo  supplied some more encouragement. “Where?!”

 

“I don’t know!”   
  


“Focus!”

 

“Stop shouting at me!”

 

The wind shouldered by them all, blowing with sudden force. Buried within the chill was laughter Ichigo wasn’t sure anyone else could hear. 

 

Kugo pointed suddenly, directly at him. “Behind you.”

 

From the terror and determination in his  eyes, Ichigo didn’t think he was lying. Turning, he shoved Grimmjow behind him and  lashed out with Alteza. Darkness swept from the ground, through buildings and bedrooms and telephones lines like surf, dissipating into curling lines of smoke.

 

“It’s gone,” Kugo said.

 

Ichigo could feel that. It ran, because Ichigo knew everything he needed to know; It wanted him, it made damn sure he knew that, and it threatened his family. He was no better that a trapped animal, and it knew it. Ichigo was no threat to Shinigami, not anymore. “Fuck…”

 

Grimmjow straightened, rubbing the back of his neck with a wince. “What the fuck was that, Kurosaki?”

 

Ichigo glanced back at him, then laughed, swiping a hand over his face. “I’ve been played, that’s what happened.” Time and time again, he fell into the hands of people that wanted his power for themselves. What Shinigami wanted with him, Ichigo could only guess, but he doubted it was anything pleasant, and he wasn’t into whoring out his soul for any unknown entity that crossed his path.

 

He might be upset, but Ichigo noticed Kugo backpedalling away. He thought he could slip away  unnoticed? He’d just proven he had a skill he could utilize, and he wasn’t going to put Chad into the line of fire. 

 

Stepping into Shunpo, he grabbed Kugo by the shoulder. “Oh no, you work for me now.”

 

“I don’t have to do shit for you,” Kugo snarled. He swat at the hand on his shoulder, and Ichigo forced Kugo to his knees. 

 

“You're my canary in the coal mine, Kugo. You're not going anywhere.”

 

“Our deal was to bring you here, and I'm not makin’ and new deals with you. I want no part of this freakshow.”

 

“That’s too bad.” Ichigo’s voice held mock sympathy and an undercurrent of rage. He held Kugo down, and considered his options. He  refused to leave his family, not when this thing could kill just by proximity alone. He also knew it fled from the God’s direct influence. La sangre, das licht, and the Kugeki could harm it. 

 

If it wanted him, why not just take him now?

 

“It’s weak,” Zangetsu supplied. “It’s been skirting beneath your notice, gathering power. If it wants your soul form, it needs power enough to take it. Don’t give it that chance. Hunt it down and kill it.”

 

‘I won’t leave my family.’

 

“Whatever this fuck wants with you, your family is as good as dead if it gets you.”

 

“Shit.” Ichigo looked from the ground, to Grimmjow. 

 

The arrancar looked more than worried, he flat out looked  scared. To an outsider, the arrancar might not look so different, but Ichigo  saw. A cold sweat shone on his skin, his eyes roaming over the street for an enemy that was no longer there. Facing threats with no tangible form and no way to defend himself was taking a toll. He didn’t want Grimmjow to cower in fear, but at a certain point, he was nothing but kindling, and he didn’t want him to catch fire.

 

Grimmjow asked, “Is it only going after shinigami?”

 

“I think so.”

 

Grimmjow’s eyes fell to Kugo and  he asked, “Does it want revenge? The princess’s old man sealed it away.”

 

Revenge didn’t seem like the right phrase. Maybe it felt just to Shinigami. Appropriate. But Ichigo understood why Grimmjow pointed it out. Bring the prey to him, wait for the hunter.

 

His senses were spread wide, conscious of the shinigami that were  out of sight in living world, if not Soul Society. He was startled to discover one wasn’t there. It was moving fast. “Kugo. I don’t have time to argue with you. The second it’s done with the shinigami, it’s going to move on to other lucrative prey, and it’s only getting stronger.”

 

The fullbringer looked up, then to Grimmjow and bared his teeth in distaste. “I hate the shinigami. As far as I’m concerned, it’s doing me a favor.”

 

Grimmjow stepped up to him, crouching to get on his level. “And when those two-faced pricks are dead, who’s next? Don’t be a dumbass. You don’t feed the monster and hope you don’t get eaten.”

 

Kugo grit his teeth, and maybe he’d already come to that conclusion, but he didn’t think on it long. He reached up for Ichigo’s forearm, his fingers digging in, but Ichigo still felt nothing. He pushed and growled, “Let me up, asshole.”

 

Ichigo pushed harder, this time he dropped his reiatsu. The wind was punched out of Kugo’s chest, the weight settling on Grimmjow’s shoulders hard enough to make him shake. The arrancar was used to the weight, no matter the strength difference, he took the sudden power in stride.

 

Ichigo bent lower and threatened, “Cross me, and I will kill you. It takes effort not to, fullbringer. Don’t test my patience.” He straightened, lifting his hand from his shoulder along with his reiatsu. He wasn’t sure how effective that threat would be, but he meant every word.

 

Kugo straightened,defiance in his eyes, but he was white as a sheet. 

 

A man attacked him from above, presumably another fullbringer. Ichigo made no move to defend himself; Grimmjow moved first. Whether it was something Ichigo had done or said, it seemed to be the final straw for Kugo’s fast-footed friend. 

 

His conduit caught a sword  the fullbringer materialized in his hand, wrenching it and pulling the startled fullbringer off balance. Grimmjow punched him in the face hard enough that the man lost his grip on his sword and went sliding back on the pavement. Blood poured from a broken  nose, coughing on the blood that drained down the back of his throat. It didn’t look like Grimmjow had broken his neck, but it was a close thing.

 

The arrancar tossed the sword away and sauntered up to the man. Ichigo stared at Grimmjow’s back, eyes roaming over the back of his neck, across his shoulders and down to hands tensed like claws. Desire clawed up his throat and he swallowed. This arrancar was strong, he was loyal;  _ mine _ . 

 

Grimmjow held this new fullbringer down with a foot on his neck and called out, “Do I kill him?”

 

Ichigo looked to Kugo. The man was still shaken, but the threat of death looming over his ally’s head drew a mixed response. Resignation, acceptance, rage, and a mix of things he couldn’t place. Ichigo called back without looking. “No.” He lowered his voice for Kugo’s ears alone. “I’ll let him live, Kugo, but not if he gets in my way again.”

 

The man on the ground groaned, “Why can't I cut you?” 

 

Grimmjow humored him with an answer. “Hierro, bitch.”

 

Ichigo looked over Kugo again, wondering if the reason he wasn't distraught wasn't that his friend was caught, but because he'd failed. Just what it was he failed to do, Ichigo was unsure. He had an inkling that his failure had something to do with Alteza's presence in Grimmjow’s soul, not his heirro. Grimmjow's place in the worlds was as disrupted as any conduit. 

 

“Try something again,” Ichigo warned, “and I'll take your sword arm.” Kugo clenched his jaw and said nothing. They were wasting time with the fullbringer's pride, and Ichigo was fed up humoring it. He ordered, “Knock him out.” Without preamble, he ripped the charm from Kugo's neck.

 

“Bastard!”

 

“You don't need your weapon to sniff out a monster. I'm keeping this until we're done.” As he spoke, Grimmjow slammed the humans head against the pavement with controlled force. He didn't feel dead, but then if he'd fucked up and killed him on accident, Ichigo didn't think he'd lose sleep over it. 

 

“Don't trust me?” Kugo sneered.

 

“No more than you trust me,” Ichigo answered. He called over to Grimmjow. “Turn him on his side  so he doesn’t drown.”

 

Grimmjow scoffed in annoyance, shoving the fullbringer to his stomach with a callous kick to the shoulder. Ichigo couldn’t chide him for being rough, if he’d reacted first, he might have just killed him and been done with it. He had  to remind himself, killing didn’t win him any friends. Kugo might despise him, but killing his allies wouldn’t make it better.

 

“Hold your breath,” Ichigo warned. He tugged them through la sangre again, this time to his father’s house. From the tally in his mind, he was down three shinigami. Their lives were slipping away quickly, it set his teeth on edge. Kugo stopped trying to stand and sat heavily in the street in front of their house. He looked more than ill, if he threw up, Ichigo wouldn’t blame him. 

 

Ichigo turned to Grimmjow, fisting his hand in his jacket to yank him into a kiss. He didn’t think about it, he couldn’t.   He smelled his fear and the cold of night in his skin and he pulled him closer, claws raking across his back. Grimmjow reacted to his touch with so much aggression, the press of his tongue to sharp canine’s was all too visceral and real. He let it burn into his memory, leaning back from his conduit before he lost his nerve or tore him apart. 

 

He traced the estigma beneath his eye with the pad of his thumb, his arrancar’s eyes blazing with rage. “Don’t you  dare leave me with  _ children _ .”

 

“You’re not coming with me,” Ichigo said. He spoke it like an order, but he couldn’t keep the pain off his face. Leaving him was a risk. Bringing him was a risk. There was no option short of sitting on his hands that wouldn’t be a risk to the people he loved.

 

Grimmjow’s hand  shot up to grasp his arm before he could pull away. “Fuck you, you’re not leaving me here.”  

 

Ichigo held onto the words, thoughtful, then spoke them as a gentle request. “Protect my family.”

 

Grimmjow shook his head and growled, “That’s not fair, Kurosaki. Don’t you put that on me.” 

 

“I trust you.”

 

“Goddammit,” Grimmjow whispered. “Goddamn you.”

 

Worry curdled in his heart, his instincts cringing back from leaving him and his family out of sight. He drew his hand back from Grimmjow’s cheek, and he throat tightened. He couldn’t say it, so he didn’t try.

 

Ichigo snapped his fingers, a dome of la sangre spreading around his family home, around the 3 people in the world he cared about the most, and he left.

 

\---xxx---

 

**Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez**

 

That bastard just left. He left him there in a dome of darkness and he didn’t know if he would come back.

 

“Shoulda known you were his bitch.”

 

The words sank into an open wound like salt. Grimmjow didn’t think twice before he’d thrown Ginjou down, ramming his fist into his face again, again, again––there was a lot of blood but it wasn’t enough. Ichigo left.

 

A hand caught his wrist and he whirled with a shout of rage. He was stopped short, strong arms holding him in place. Grimmjow’s eyes widened. Isshin. Not a threat.

 

Kurosaki’s father held an expression he didn’t recognize, but it was intense. Isshin’s grip on his arms was strong, stronger than him outside of resurrection. Grimmjow’s arms shook, trembling in exertion. Isshin’s voice was steady, it sort of reminded him of Ichigo. “Relax, arrancar, you’re not killing anyone on my front step where my girls can see.”

 

Chest heaving, Grimmjow realized there were 2 pairs of eyes on him. He looked over at Ichigo’s sisters, and instead of horror, they looked deeply sad. Why the fuck would they look at him like that? It made him angry, but it also made him cringe back. It was like they saw more than he wanted, like they didn’t judge him for breaking the face of some stranger in their front yard. 

 

Kurosaki would never forgive him if they had to see that, and he still needed Ginjou. Grimmjow suddenly turned back to the fullbringer, and for some reason Isshin let him go. He shook him by the jacket. “Hey, don’t die, you asshole!”

 

The fullbringer groaned, but was nearly unresponsive. Isshin rested his hand on his shoulder. “Stop. Reiatsu or not, you hit him hard enough to rattle a wildebeest. Tell me what’s going on.”

 

Grimmjow abruptly stood, staring wide-eyed down at the fullbringer. He smeared the blood that had splattered his face with the back of his hand. He probably only made it worse by doing that. More than how terrible it probably looked to Kurosaki’s sisters, it disgusted him whose blood it was. He fought to find the words to explain, looking from the dark dome surrounding them, to the concerned shinigami...father, standing before him. “Something wants your son, and it’s eating a whole lot of shinigami to get powerful enough to do it.”

 

Isshin’s eyes narrowed and he looked up at their inky prison. “This is my son’s doing?”

 

“Yes.” Grimmjow turned and walked up to the dome, reaching for it tentatively. It didn’t snap to devour him, it behaved like a fluid wall beneath his palm. It flowed over his skin in pulsing ripples, hungrily accepting the blood drying on his hands and face. He leaned back before it could get overzealous, already missing that faint connection with Ichigo. His will was in that wall, his need and desire to protect shaping a thing with no real will of its own. 

 

Despite all that, it confirmed what he already assumed; they were stuck.

 

“Who’s the stranger?” Isshin asked.

 

“Kugo. A fullbringer.”

 

“Why is he in here with us?”

 

“He can sense the Big Bad,” Grimmjow answered. 

 

“And he’s unconscious,” Isshin said flatly. He sighed. “Help me get him in the house.”

 

Grimmjow glowered down at Kugo, clenching and unclenching his fists. When Grimmjow didn’t move to help, Isshin crouched down before Kugo and snapped his fingers in front of his face. “How many fingers?” He held up two.

 

Kugo groaned, “Four? Five...I don’t know.”

 

Isshin frowned across at Grimmjow. “So how do we fight this Big Bad?”

 

Grimmjow realized he was restlessly turning in circles, so he willfully stopped. He looked over at the girls, and briefly considered not answering. He didn’t think Kurosaki would have. “We don’t.”

 

“So why bother with the Big Bad radar?” Isshin asked. 

 

Grimmjow blinked at him. That was a good question. He reached into his pocket, fingering that small token of la sangre. He ran his thumb over the cool surface, one that never grew warm, no matter how much he held it. The cold sank through flesh, down to his bones, but he’d gotten used to it. He hadn’t needed it in a long time. Ichigo said he didn’t think he would be able to use it outside of Hueco Mundo. But he could try. “To buy time,” he finally answered.

 

There was very little any of them would be able to do against a God, or whatever this thing was, that the Gods turned to it with so much aggression he barely recognized Kurosaki. Protect my family. 

 

“Fuck you, Kurosaki,” Grimmjow whispered. He  turned to Kugo and lifted his shoulders. Isshin didn’t waste those few seconds of charity, he lifted his legs and they got him into the house on a metal table. It smelled like sterilizers and stainless steel. He kind of hated it. 

 

The girls stared at him in thoughtful silence from the doorway; Karin looked stubbornly determined, and Yuzu  seemed to be on the verge of tears. He wondered if they saw that kiss. Maybe they had, maybe they disapproved. Whatever.

 

He  sat on a metal folding chair while Isshin did his Kidou thing to Ginjou’s face. It occured to Grimmjow that Isshin  was dressed as a shinigami. His body must be somewhere nearby, but he had yet to see it. He didn’t really care; he was worried.

 

Think about something else.

 

He lifted his hand to the back of his neck, rubbing tense muscles. Ichigo was gone. He was gone. Gone. He left. Why was he so scared?

 

He was startled by the appearance of feet in his peripheral. He looked up, and found himself less than a foot from the girl. Yuzu looked nervous, but not enough to back down from whatever mission she was on. “You have that look my brother gets.”

 

Grimmjow scowled at her. “What look?”

 

“When he feels helpless, or scared.”

 

“I ain’t scared,” Grimmjow snapped. 

 

She didn’t flinch or back down, she only smiled. She had eyes like Kurosaki used to have, but he’d never seen such a soft expression on his face before. Now he had the cold eyes of a predator, the unblinking stare of something unfamiliar and different. Now Grimmjow understood Kurosaki’s pain. He thought he did, but now he knew. This is what he lost; Kindness.

 

Grimmjow lurched to his feet, pushing past the girl to go outside. It was suddenly too cramped, too real. Isshin  shouted at his back, but he was too eager to ignore the shinigami. He wouldn’t leave Kugo alone with his girls, he needed space.

 

“Oi, arrancar!”

 

“Fuck off!” 

 

Karin glared at him, unconcerned by the bite in his tone and the violence in his posture. “You won’t hurt me.”

 

“You don’t know that, kid.”

 

Her determination set  her jaw and she paced up to him without fear. “I do. I saw.”

 

Grimmjow shifted, uncomfortable. “Doesn’t mean shit.”

 

“It does! Are you scared for him?”

 

Grimmjow broke. “Aren’t you?! You stupid little runt!” He shouted, but he didn’t dare raise a hand.

 

That didn’t stop Karin. She swat at his chest. “Of course I am! What good does it do to cry or panic?”

 

Grimmjow took a step back.  He wasn’t expecting that response. It was about as well articulated as an answer he might get from Kurosaki, but it was no less true.

 

She carried on when he remained silent. “He asked you to protect us, didn’t he?” Grimmjow glared, but held his tongue. “Of course he did, that sounds like exactly the kind of shit my brother would do.” 

 

Again, not what he’d expected, she almost sounded angry. She asked, “What are you scared of, Grimmjow?” He still  said nothing, but this little brat looked like she knew. “Are you scared you’ll fail, you’ll let him down, that he’ll hate you?”

 

“What makes you think I give a shit about you?!”

 

“Because you’re scared! People are only scared when they have something to lose. You’re not worried about yourself.”  

 

“How the fuck do you know that?”

 

“Yuzu told you. You have the same look he does.”

 

Looking back to the dark dome that trapped them, Grimmjow knew in his gut  what she meant, but he asked anyway. “What look, kid?”

 

Her expression softened with her tone, but Grimmjow didn’t think it was for him, it was for her brother. “Like you’re ready to throw your life away.”

 

Grimmjow chest tightened, and he had to wonder why. Did it hurt to be called out? Or because he hadn’t realized. He fingered the medallion in his pocket. Pantera. “Shut up, kid.”

 

She gave him a steady look, then sat down on the front stoop. He wanted to tell her to go away, but that was stupid, it was her house. So he was left with an audience  for his thoughts. He kept his back to her and focused on his thin bond with Kurosaki. He was alive. Scared and stressed and angry… so angry. God he was powerful. The ocean of his power burned like a sun in his senses. He wanted to track his movements, but it was painful, so he stopped. And he was left in ignorance. 

 

Kugo spoke from behind him. “Pretty shitty to beat up an unarmed man.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Pretty sure you’re fucking Kurosaki.”

 

Grimmjow spun, but Isshin caught his fist before he could make contact. Fuck, he hadn’t even known he was there. Grimmjow stared with wide eyes; the man was a master at concealing his reiatsu. Isshin tightened his hand on his fist until it hurt and warned, “Please don’t threaten our Big Bad radar. And you, Ginjou, don’t taunt the arrancar. You’re just asking for it, and frankly, I’m tempted to let him do it.”

 

Instead of starting a fight with Kurosaki’s father over a stupid insult, Grimmjow pulled his fist back, rocking back  on his heels. This rage wasn’t all his, some of it spilled over from Kurosaki, some of it boiled in his subconscious like black blood, but the core of it was his. Taunted over something he couldn’t have,  _ hurt _ , and lashing out only made it more obvious.

 

“Christ, you’re easy to rile up,” Kugo scoffed. He sat on the front step, lifting his fingers to his temple to nurse what must be a monster headache. Good, he deserved it. “What's the freak doing?”

 

Grimmjow shot him a glare shared between Yuzu, Isshin and Karin, and answered stiffly, “Fighting. So if you sense that thing from before, tell me, or we're all dead.”

 

“From what I remember,” Kugo drawled, “You didn't do shit when it showed up before.”

 

“Neither did you,” Grimmjow shot back.

 

“So what's an arrancar going to do to a monster?” Kugo made a thoughtful sound, pretending to consider it. “Yeah that's right,  _ nothing _ .”

 

Yuzu snapped, “Why are you so negative?”

 

“Cause I'm old,” Kugo answered.

 

“You're not _old_ , you're just weak,” Karin whined.

 

Kugo frowned. “I'm not arguing with a little girl.”

 

“I'm in middle school!”

 

Kugo gave her a flat stare. “If I winked at you I’d go to jail; you're a little girl.”

 

“Okaaaaayyy,” Isshin interrupted, “That's enough of that.” He changed the subject instead, thank the powers that be. “What do people outside this bubble see?”

 

“Nothing,” Grimmjow answered. “They just carry on, walking around as if it  doesn’t exist. Humans don’t have such shitty instincts after all.”

 

Karin crossed her arms and leaned on the house. “Did I hear a compliment?”

 

“Don’t get a big head,” Grimmjow snapped.

 

The silence stretched, the air in their bubble eerily still.  Grimmjow could still hear the mutterings and whispers of Alteza, but as Kurosaki had warned, eventually it faded into white noise, he hardly noticed it anymore. Isshin broke  that silence. “So...you and my son-”

 

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Grimmjow hissed. He could feel their questions weighing down the silence, but he didn’t have answers for them. He didn’t know what they were. They weren’t friends; he wasn’t a subordinate, a servant, or even a lover. All he knew was that Kurosaki was his whole world. 

 

And Kurosaki’s family was everything to him. Everything. He wasn’t sure where he squared off when it came to his sisters, but he had a feeling Kurosaki would choose them. He would choose them too. He’d seen the absolute despair on Kurosaki’s face when he woke from a nightmare with the fear his sisters were long dead. 

 

Fuck him for piling so much responsibility onto his shoulders. He’d never asked for this. Kurosaki’s sanity was in the palm of his hand. How easy it would be to  shatter it. But he was unbelievably selfish. He wanted Kurosaki for himself, but at the end of the day, there was nothing left for him. 

 

Fuck him for thinking he would let his sisters die. 

 

“Kugo,” Grimmjow said.

 

“What?”

 

Kurosaki’s desperation set off warning bells in his head. “Be ready.”

  
  
  


\---xxx---

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

Dragging every shinigami he knew of through the Kugeki to the middle of nowhere was a bit complicated. What was difficult was corralling something intangible and smart, that didn’t want to be corralled without letting it kill anyone. He was still stronger than Shinigami, he could feel it in his gut. He applied pressure, and its weary bones creaked. Just a little harder and they would fracture and shatter. 

 

He thought he hated die Konigin, Alteza...but these Gods and their hosts had never sought out his family in the hopes to use him. He hated this monster in the same way he’d hated Aizen. He wanted to tear its grinning jaw from its face and grind its bones into dust.

 

He fought around his cluster of bait. Over fifty shinigami, bound and cowering. If any of them lived, he’d apologize. Like death, Shinigami had marked them, it wanted them next, but fuck if it couldn’t have them. Its very presence  killed the grass, the trees, even the stones. There was something markedly absent in the air, the very life of that world sucked dry. 

 

It slipped in and out of reality, in a space Ichigo wasn’t sure he could follow, its skeletal form rippling like a mirage. He  realized the shinigami could see it now. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t spare the thought to care. 

 

He’d never fought something so silent. Beneath the insanity of the Gods, there was nothing but the wind, and the ring of pure silence in his ears. 

 

It laughed as if it wasn’t trapped, and if he wasn’t  _ so close  _ to ripping it apart with his bare hands. 

 

It dropped its jaw in a sickly smile, collapsing again into dust beneath his sword. The dust went  _ through _ him. He felt it, he felt too much. Ichigo went rigid, his body refusing to respond. He fell to his knees, the Gods devouring what little pieces of Shinigami that passed through his soul. His cage crumbled, for those few seconds. That fucker sacrificed a huge chuck of its being to surprise him, to overwhelm him with power and the God’s own need to consume and destroy. 

 

Why would it do that? Sacrifice all its gathered power for what? A few seconds headstart. 

 

It disappeared, fleeing into a void. 

 

_ No _ .

 

Ichigo knew where it went. He felt it hit against his weakened barrier around his family, he felt it break through, and his body wouldn’t MOVE. MOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVE.

 

The God’s grip on his body loosened, his hand tightened on his sword, and he was gone.  

 

He staggered from la sangre, eyes wide in panic. For a split second, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. Grimmjow had his arm extended, he was using la sangre. It spilled from his skin like he was bleeding out, feeding off his own blood. It physically shredded him, but he used it, he was their shield, and Shinigami couldn’t reach them. Its bony fingers scraped along the tiny dome Grimmjow had made, a monster prodding for weakness. Ichigo threw his hand out, taking control from Grimmjow, and it shattered that suspended moment.

 

Shinigami exploded into dust, slamming into Grimmjow’s chest like a crashing wave. It sank into his skin, a silent poison, and Grimmjow’s legs buckled. 

 

Ichigo caught Grimmjow before his knees could strike concrete, calling on every drop of la sangre in his conduit’s body and found something  _ else _ . Shinigami.

 

Dread settled in his gut, a pain that squeezed his heart and made it hard to breathe. He gripped Grimmjow’s head, drawing on all of Alteza to force Shinigami out. He dropped his forehead to Grimmjow’s and hissed, “Get out, get out, get out…” He dug his claws into his head, anything to illicit a reaction, but there was nothing. Grimmjow was weak, his arms were shredded from la sangre, his eyes were closed and his body was limp, but his muscles twitched and spasmed as Shinigami invaded his soul. 

 

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

 

Without warning, Grimmjow grabbed the back of his neck and Ichigo gasped in shock. The voice that met his ears was familiar, but the words and inflection were twisted. “Kill me now, godling. This cluster of souls and sorrow is  _ mine _ , mine––mine-mine.” It laughed, and Ichigo jerked back, staring down into blue eyes he didn’t recognize. Shinigami laughed harder, stealing Grimmjow’s voice. It grew quieter, a whisper shared between them. “I am a plague in the minds of Gods, feasting on their precious children.”

 

Ichigo’s hand tightened on Grimmjow’s throat, cutting off his air. The Shinigami didn’t react like a Soul should, it just smiled at him, freakishly wide, stretching Grimmjow’s face into a mockery of real joy. Ichigo screamed, “GET OUT!”

 

That manic smile only widened. It was goading him, it knew he wouldn’t kill him. It fucking knew. 

 

**“Kill him, King.”**

 

His breath burned in his chest.  _ ‘I can’t.’ _

 

**“Don’t let him be this monster’s plaything.”**

 

Ichigo trembled and la sangre swarmed around him like wildfire. 

 

**“KILL HIM!”**

 

**“KING!”**

 

Cold reality sunk into his skin and filled him with terror. He’d lost Grimmjow. He was right there beneath his hands, those were his eyes, his smile, but it wasn’t him. 

 

He was gone, locked in his own soul. 

 

Panic drew a gutted sound from his chest. He felt him, he felt his soul, but it was stained with poison that he couldn’t  purge. He would kill him if he tried to separate them, either by his own hands, or with Alteza. He belonged to Shinigami.

 

Ichigo let go with shaking hands and Shinigami rasped the words through a ruined throat. “He thinks you’re weak. He wants you to kill him. Do it. Do it, Kurosaki.” Ichigo recoiled, his gut twisting. He remembered what it was like to see his lifeless corpse. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t.

 

Shinigami shoved him off and forced Grimmjow to stand, blood oozing from the injuries on his arms. It didn’t react to the pain, smiling down at him. “Young hosts are so easy to fool. Too many attachments, so many wasted emotions.”

 

It lifted Grimmjow’s left hand and purred, “Stand in my way,” He broke a finger with a wet crunch, and Ichigo flinched, jolted by the suddenness of it. Grimmjow felt that pain, Ichigo  _ knew _ he felt it. He broke another. “I’ll kill the hollow.” He broke a third finger and twisted.  “And it won’t be swift.” 

 

Ichigo lunged from where he kneeled, catching his wrist. “Stop.”

 

Shinigami smiled and pulled the broken hand from his grasp, waving with broken, mangled fingers. “Remember this, godling.” It leaned in close enough to kiss and Ichigo grimaced, rocking back. Its voice just as soft and tantalizing as Grimmjow’s, but perversely twisted. “You are weak.”

 

Shinigami turned away, and Ichigo got one look at the back of Grimmjow’s head. They rippled away in a mirage,  gone to a place he couldn’t go. He could still sense Grimmjow’s soul, like a pinned butterfly. That fire he loved so much was no longer free. 

 

He was gone.

 

Ichigo stared where they’d been, his breath caught in his throat. He felt...lost.

 

He stared into the space he’d been and the Gods writhed like snakes in his soul, eager to kill this parasite when it was so weak, but Ichigo didn’t move. He’d made a mistake, he’d failed.  And Grimmjow was the one paying for it. Again.

 

Movement caught his attention, and his eyes snapped to his father’s, carefully invading his space.

 

“Ichigo?”

 

The demigod sucked in a fragile, painful breath.

 

He ran.

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--
> 
>  
> 
> Believe it or not, but I actually like Kugo, this isn’t Kugo bashing, I promise. Ichigo is just...upset. As if you read all that to hear about Kugo. Don’t hate me.


	7. Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for beta reading MagellanicClouds! uvu You saved me!

**Kurosaki Isshin**

 

His son was not kind. Not anymore. He’d let go of that delusion when he’d stabbed an unconscious enemy in the back. The boy he knew was gone, replaced by a near stranger. His son had lived a lifetime of horrors Isshin never wanted for him; a war Isshin had pulled down on his family by the very nature of what he was. 

 

From what he'd come to understand, it was possible his son had been the only one capable of ending it, but that didn’t mean he was proud that his son had been forced to clean up a mess from a life he’d long left behind. 

 

Ichigo grew up strong. Isshin had shamefully hoped he would be powerless, that he might be spared a world of bloodshed and battles, but he’d sensed his reiatsu grow and flourish, and he willfully turned a blind eye. Urahara taught him in his place, because he couldn't bear to face his son. He was a coward sometimes, right when it mattered.

 

Isshin hid behind the lie that his children could decide for themselves. It was a nasty lie, one that still haunted him. He'd been selfish and cruel to let Ichigo face Soul Society alone. Byakuya could have been callous, he could have slain his son in the street, and that would have been all on him. He’d bet his son’s life on people he knew were not known to be kind.

 

He’d been facing that, owning up to his mistakes. It took time to see how truly warped Ichigo had become. He’d had hope that wasn’t the case, but he’d been wrong. It was one thing to face the consequences of his decisions head on, but to suddenly skip years of hardship, to see the impact his decisions had made on Ichigo years into the future...Isshin wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse. 

 

Perhaps it was both. He didn’t have to see the grief wearing his son down into veritable madness, but he also didn’t have years to adjust. It was a shock to see that his son had become a killer. That he was good at it. It was painful to see just how little he trusted, and to know every ounce of mistrust had been earned.

 

Initially, Isshin had been afraid of Ichigo. He’d seen what he did to people by accident. What was to stop him from killing his sisters? For a time, he saw the monster everyone else did, but beneath all that rage, he caught glimpses of the son he’d raised, and he was reminded they were the same. The illusion fell away, and he felt foolish. His couldn’t see a monster anymore. He saw only _ his son _ ; Masaki’s boy. He thought Masaki might be disappointed in him. He couldn’t fill the hole she’d left behind, he couldn’t be the shoulder for his children to cry on, to depend on. He didn’t know how to be. The words Masaki had spoken so easily died in his throat, and he was left feeling nothing but loss.

 

Never in his life would he wish that loss on anyone, let alone his own flesh and blood.

 

The look of pure anguish on Ichigo's face was reflected in Isshin’s soul, cutting deeper than any blade ever could. It wasn’t something he should have been able to feel, it felt wildly intrusive, and the small, animal part of his brain recoiled and needed it to cease. Ichigo’s pain hit him straight in the gut, and he could no longer tell it apart from his own. 

 

If he'd had any doubts about his son and Grimmjow, they fled in that single, crushing moment. Ichigo loved that arrancar.

 

He depended on him, leaned on him, loved him, and this thing took him. It was quick, as those things often were. Isshin didn't think Ichigo even had the time to fathom what he'd lost. 

 

Despondent, cautious blue eyes were devoid of any compassion, they were devoid of anything. His gut screamed at him that this thing was wrong, it was death itself and this arrancar was its corpse to play with. 

 

He wasn't looking at Grimmjow anymore. This wasn't the same arrancar that had sacrificed himself for the sake of Ichigo's sisters.

 

Isshin was grateful he had. He was more than grateful for that. God, he was grateful. A few more seconds, and that monster could be wearing one of his little girls. The very notion had him tasting bile. 

 

That coursing dark churned and boiled around the pair in angry waves, seemingly eager, desperate. Hissing and howling voices filled the silence, pressing into his brain with a prickly persistence. He pulled his girls closer, holding them back from the dark that surged around their brother. 

 

They forgot their own fear, they didn’t need a direct line to Ichigo’s soul to see he was suffering. He yanked Karin back by her arm when she slipped from his grasp. “No! Karin!”

 

She whirled on him, a clawing fear in her eyes that he’d never seen before. She screamed, “Are we supposed to do nothing?!”

 

The desperate pitch in her voice made his heart clench in pain he didn’t want to feel. Not now, this was no time to grieve.

 

He couldn’t see his son’s face, only black hair, snagged by an unnatural wind. “Ichigo!” If Ichigo heard him, he made no sign of it, and Isshin couldn’t hear the words that they shared, not beneath the angry voices of the Gods. 

 

Dread was sinking too deep into his son’s heart to uproot, and it was justified.

 

Grimmjow disappeared, his figure rippling as if a mirage, until Isshin had to question if he'd ever been there at all. His son stood still, far too still for the utter chaos in his soul. This went beyond grief. Something in his son had broken. 

 

Isshin untangled himself from his daughters and straightened, the air suddenly silent, the wind dead. He circled around to face his son rather than startle him and wind up dead. His sandals scuffed concrete as he stepped off into the street, circling his son in a wide arch. 

 

He finally came around to face him and his breath tangled in his throat. He didn’t see a monster now, he saw his son as he had when he was a child. Swaths of black painted his cheeks and obscured his expression, but  Isshin saw the agony there as plain as it was the day his mother was stolen from them. Those weren’t the eyes of a killer, those were the eyes of a fearful, lost boy.

 

“Ichigo?”

 

Golden eyes snapped to his, shoulders moving with a sharp intake of breath, and his son was gone, la sangre curling in the space he’d just been standing. Isshin clenched his jaw, his breath squeezed from a tight  heart, but the next was slow, steady. He couldn’t afford to panic.

 

Turning back to the house, Karin stood, shoulders hunched and arms crossed, side by side with Yuzu. “Why did he do that? Why would he protect us?”

 

The fullbringer stood a few feet away, but curiously hadn’t left. He hadn't seemed to be there of his own will, but something kept him lingering and observing. The question Karin had him looking to Isshin for an answer. 

 

Reaching for both of them, he pulled them into a stiff, awkward hug. The adrenaline hadn't quite worn off, and both of them were shaking. His daughters wanted to be tough, but this was a lot to ask of them, and they didn't shove him off. For whatever reason, they chose not to make close friends, they kept everyone at arm's length but each other, and after seeing what their brother went through, he couldn't blame them for fearing the worst from everyone they came into contact with. 

 

He squeezed Yuzu's shoulder when she sniffed, biting back tears. “Because Ichigo loves you both, and Grimmjow knew that,” he said. His daughters were smart, they’d seen that look in the arranar’s eyes, they knew the answer before the question had even been raised. They only voiced it because it wasn’t fair.

 

That arrancar had been Ichigo’s pillar, as Masaki had been for Isshin. He’d had three young children to raise, he couldn’t afford to fall apart. Ichigo had a whole universe depending on him, but the people he cared about we're too far out of reach...and the look in his eyes. Isshin’s chest felt tight and sheer despair on his son’s face. No amount of estigma could hide that from him. His son was...he couldn’t do it.

 

Whatever fragile support system his son had cobbled together was broken, and now he couldn’t be sure what he would do. That was a frightening thought. 

 

He looked at Kugo. “Drink lots of water, avoid alcohol for a day, and take some aspirin. Please leave.” He’d fulfilled his duty as a doctor, but his tolerance for strangers was already at zero, especially a stranger that had been a hostage up until a few minutes ago.

 

For some reason, Kugo looked ready to argue. Rather than deal with him, he kept himself between Kugo and his daughters and went straight for his phone. He called Kisuke, and to his surprise, the shopkeeper spoke first. “What happened?”

 

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

 

There was a pause, the tapping of plastic keys, and Kisuke answered, “Come by. We have a lot to talk about.” He paused and added, “Bring the Fullbringer.”

 

Isshin hung up, looked at Kugo, and the man took a few steps back. “No, I’m not getting involved in any more shinigami shit. I’m leaving.”

 

Isshin made a sound of disagreement. “No, you’re not.”

 

“You deaf?”

 

Kugo turned his back; a bold move on the property of a very angry shinigami. “What did my son promise you?” Isshin asked.

 

Kugo froze and looked back. “What?”

 

“I know my son. What did he promise you?”

 

Kugo’s eyes narrowed. “The truth.”

 

“Fine. You’ll get it. Kisuke will listen to your story.” Isshin gestured. “But you have to come with me.”

 

Kugo stared, then bared his teeth in a grimace. “Fine.”

 

\---xxx---

 

**Zangetsu**

 

If Zangetsu could attest to any sort of fear, it was staring him in the face. Ichigo was lost. Whatever control he had over his power hadn’t merely slipped, it was in a freefall. But he wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t flee where it would cause less harm. His reiatsu flooded Hueco Mundo with a pressure it's inhabitants couldn't feel, but it was inexorably tied to his control over the Gods. La sangre was in chaos, black waves hungry for prey it was denied. 

 

Ichigo wasn't going to let Grimmjow die, it wasn't a decision he could make. If the very notion of losing him drove him to this, Zangetsu didn't want to imagine the fallout if he actually killed the arrancar. Shinigami was safe, Ichigo was no longer a threat to him. 

 

“ _ Shinigami _ .” Zangetsu hissed the name like a curse. 

 

Ichigo's inner world fared worse than the real world. Black sand seeped through the cracks in Ichigo's inner world, trickling into the empty buildings in his heart. Outside that small haven, the wind howled, drenched in bodiless voices.

 

Even if he'd dragged Ichigo here, he was nearly unresponsive. The black streaks down his wielder's cheeks shone with tears, teeth clenched in pain and rage. His bloodlust sank into his heart like a hot blade, desperate and eager to kill something no longer within reach.

 

Zangetsu had seen something similar before. Similar but not the same. Grimmjow was still alive, they could both feel his soul burn at the edge of their consciousness. He was alive, and even with all this power, Ichigo could do nothing to free him.

 

Glass crunched under Zangetsu's feet as he stepped closer, reaching out to touch his cheek. “I'll do it.”

 

“No.” 

 

“Ichigo, Grimmjow is only the first. Do you want to lose him, or everything?”

 

“I can't.”

 

Zangetsu twisted his hand in his hair and Ichigo turned his head to meet the pain, baring his throat. Zangetsu snarled, “ _ I _ can!” Ichigo didn't need to speak, he was begging him with all his heart. “I can make you!” 

 

“Yes,” Ichigo whispered. His voice was lost among the howling wind and the rattle of glass in cracking frames. If he forced Ichigo's hand, he would break him. 

 

Ichigo had forced Zangetsu before. His blade had broken, snapped under the will of a stronger enemy, but never by Ichigo's hand. Ichigo had never willfully disregarded his feelings or used him as a tool.

 

He'd seen the result of that in Kenpachi. His sword screamed, nameless and betrayed by its wielder. What would that be like, to suffer a partnership so toxic? To cut Ichigo so deeply he never trusted him again?

 

For all that he blamed Ichigo for, Zangetsu couldn’t imagine doing it himself. He could decry his wielder all he wanted, but they were one in the same. Neither of them could hurt the one they wanted to protect. His grip in his hair loosened, shifting to the back of his neck.

 

He leaned forward, dropping his head to rest against Ichigo’s in a touch that was unusually gentle. Gentleness wasn’t something that came naturally to a weapon, but he was more than a sharp edge. He was Ichigo’s regret and pain and lost hope. His wielder didn’t deserve this. To be reduced to this fearful, lost mess, forced to hide in his own soul.

 

Zangetsu whispered a promise. “Then the world can burn.” Grimmjow wasn’t dead, he was merely out of reach. “You will have him back, King.”

  
  


\---xxx---

 

**Harribel**

 

The sudden chaos that befell Hueco Mundo startled Harribel, but it was also painfully familiar. La sangre writhed through the floor and walls in rippling waves, restless and eager. It frothed around her feet, sometimes passing straight through her. It was unsettling, but not painful, and she knew it damn well could have been. “Ichigo...” It would  have been expectant, and perhaps smart, to assume this was the product of rage. 

 

If she were strong enough to feel the hybrid’s reiatsu, she might have been certain, but her gut told her this wasn’t anger, but pain . Past experience might have led her to assume it was rage, but that wasn't the aura she felt from la sangre.

 

Without pausing to think, she reached for the communicator to pull up Ichigo’s location. She got nothing. Broken or jammed, it hardly mattered when it wouldn't work. 

 

She dropped everything to seek out Szayel. She fell into sonido, rushing past oblivious and confused arrancar. La sangre clung to some of the weaker ones, but even if it chose to eat them, there was nothing she could do about it that she wasn't already doing. 

 

it was uncomfortable to run without seeing the floor. The ground had disappeared beneath a carpet of darkness, but she could still hear the ring of her heels on solid stone. 

 

Szayel seemed busy when she step foot in his lab. She didn't shout, but she did make an effort to project her voice. “Where is he?”

 

The scientist was hunched over a console, reading lines of data she simply didn't understand. His voice was clipped  “I'm still looking.”

 

“What's taking so long?”

 

Szayel made an irritated noise and swiveled in his chair to snatch a handheld device from a table to her left. He tapped the screen and tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear, exposing the scar on his face. If he was so distracted that he would so carelessly bare a scar that caused him such shame, then he really was doing all that he could. “Kurosaki is very powerful. When he spreads out his reiatsu and influence like this it's like trying to find the eye of a storm from  _ inside _ the storm.”

 

“Do you have an idea?”

 

Szayel made a hurried, tense sound, and rolled his chair back to the console spread. He pulled up a map and asked absently, “You can't mean to speak with him.”

 

Harribel's answer was succinct. “I do.” She felt it was her duty to step in, not only for the sake of every sentient being in Hueco Mundo, but as something of a friend. “You were looking for him before I ever got here.. why?”

 

Szayel stiffly shrugged. “Curiosity. Or perhaps self preservation.” Amaranth eyes broke from their task. “You can't say you don't find it daunting that our lives are in the hands of one very unstable man.”

 

It was a valid point, and one Harribel couldn't argue because it haunted every decision she made; her waking hours and restless nights. Kurosaki was their savior, but he was also their nightmare. A nightmare with the emotional stability of a madman. 

 

She liked Kurosaki but he was, at his core, a threat. She wasn’t sure if the tragedy was that Kurosaki himself knew this

 

She shifted her weight, restless. “A location, Szayel,” she demanded,

 

He bared his teeth in a retort he didn't dare speak and said, “Take the tablet. If you must go, I'll update as I narrow the field of view. You might have better luck with a visual than I will, this power overloads sensors and leaves me blind.”

 

Harribel lifted a hand to the communicator by her ear and called, “Neliel. Report to Szayel. Watch him, keep him on task.”

 

An affirmative rang over the connection as Szayel drawled, “Hhnnn, don’t trust me?”

 

“Of course not.” Harribel picked up the tablet, got her bearings and left, her focus narrowing to the task at hand. Ichigo could be anywhere in an instant, she could only hope he would stay put until she could get close, and when she did, that he wouldn't run, or worse, kill her.

 

While she ran, her thoughts kept replaying the same hard discussion she'd had with Ichigo months ago. Some things might be uncertain, and some things Ichigo refused to tell her, but there were certainties: the hybrid couldn't die, la sangre had irreparably changed him, and he was torn between three Gods that had driven his predecessors mad.

 

She checked the tablet, then her surroundings, then sealed off the fear that flowed like ice through her veins. She was afraid, she had every right to be. The person she was approaching could be the man she knew, or he could be twisted by something she had no reason to trust.

 

All she could do was hope for the former. There was no hiding from this. This was the duty she'd asked for, that no one expected her to uphold, but she chose to burden herself with anyway. She was a queen.

 

\---xxx---

 

**Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez**

 

Grimmjow was prepared to face death. He didn't regret saving Kurosaki's family, he'd never regret sparing him that, but he never thought he'd live to see so much despair on the hybrid's face. 

 

He'd seen Kurosaki at his worst; in rage, pain, loneliness, or need, but this was too much.

 

Kurosaki looked shattered. That stricken look in his eyes wasn’t one given by someone ignorant. Kurosaki knew exactly what was happening to him, he understood, and didn’t that just make it worse.

 

Nothing had prepared him for this. He felt his own face stretch into a smile, he felt his shoulders shake with unwanted laughter, and his soul curdled in disgust.

 

If it wasn't enough to have to see his pain on his face, he had to feel it too. He had to sit back and witness something he'd caused, and he knew this was hell. 

 

Years in solitude as an adjuchas we're nothing compared to this. He hurt. He thought he knew pain, but he was naive. This was a pain that had nothing to do with his body. There was no easy cure. His heart ached. 

 

Something in Kurosaki snapped with each bone Shinigami had broken. He saw that irreversible something darken those amber eyes.

 

Grimmjow had gotten used to losing; Kurosaki beat him into the ground when they fought almost on the daily. Sometimes the hybrid even let him ‘win’, but it was never a true victory. That was too ambitious a goal for anyone alive. He’d bitterly thought of those skirmishes as loses. Now he saw it very differently. 

 

This was worse than defeat. The sting didn’t batter his pride, it crippled his soul. To feel his body move, his mouth form words he’d never speak, was violating. He’d seen Kurosaki succumb to the Gods, forced into action he never meant to take, but to feel it himself brought with it an entire realm of respect and fear. He understood now. He  _ understood _ the fear in Kurosaki’s eyes when he looked at him, when he lost control.

 

Grimmjow thought he knew what it meant to be powerless, and he’d been wrong. The panic that clawed its way up his throat was his own, but there was nowhere to run, nothing to fight. He’d lost.

 

It was no fucking wonder Kurosaki had issues. 

 

That Shinigami bastard took him away, to an empty space unscarred by battle, but heavy with the burden of one. He felt it in the air, and he smelled it in the fear of the shinigami stranded there. They’d been played, they lost just as badly as anyone. Nothing but sacrifices, gathered together to feed a monster. 

 

He was a walking meatsuit shield, Kurosaki didn’t have the guts to kill him. Once, he’d had the resolve to do what he had to, but no longer. Love had softened that resolve, and it had proven to be a deathtrap for them both. 

 

Grimmjow knew he was Kurosaki’s weakness, but he’d naively hoped it would never be used against them. It was easy to think Kurosaki couldn't fail. He lost some, but in the end, the stubborn bastard eventually won.

 

Not this time. 

 

It started with the conduits. Grimmjow wasn't even sure anymore if Kurosaki had killed them out of mercy or not. 

 

There was an apology hidden in his eyes, the hybrid knew he’d rather die than be a slave in his own body. But Kurosaki couldn't kill him. He couldn't and he wouldn't try.

 

Did he blame Kurosaki for that? 

 

Shinigami took his damn time strolling up to a shinigami. The fucker seemed to enjoy it, that or he didn't have a care in the world. It might have been both. In one move he'd gotten everything he could have wanted. He had the strongest shield he could have hoped for. 

 

The shinigami scattered, a school of fish parting for a shark. Grimmjow knew he didn't look friendly, but this fear was instinctual. These shinigami sensed something big in the water even if they couldn't see it.

 

Shinigami used sonido as effortlessly as if Grimmjow’s body were his own. But his body still didn't move right. It wasn't that he felt the movement was jarring or slow or stiff, it was simply wrong.

 

In one sharp motion, Shinigami caught a man by the shihakusho and  _ ate _ him. He was still there, his hand was still clenched around fabric, but he now understood Kurosaki's horror. 

 

The man's soul was just  _ gone _ , siphoned into a void that promised true death. Grimmjow's guts roiled at the sensation, sitting backseat to something he thought he'd understood. There was eating a soul for power, and then there was  _ this.  _

 

Stop.

 

The scraps of Alteza in his soul surged up with such violence, Shinigami hesitated, the body he'd stolen seizing up in agony. Grimmjow's awareness faltered, caught between a God and a parasite. His soul screamed under the pressure and his legs buckled, bringing him to his knees. 

 

Weak.

 

The word rang in his head, bodiless and soundless, but he understood and he knew exactly what it was.

 

Grimmjow had pride, he had it in spades, but this was beyond pain, this was something deeper, something unnatural. 

 

_ Stop _ . 

 

Shinigami threw it back at him in disgust, if Grimmjow could attribute feelings to it at all. 

 

Shinigami wanted his body to move. It had no care or reason, it wanted to consume. It was a need so immense even Grimmjow could feel it, and it was using up his soul to do it.

 

It made him stand, forcing his body past a limit Alteza imposed. It set its sights on another shinigami, paused, and drew Pantera. 

 

Shinigami pulled on his reiatsu and forced him into his Segunda Etapa. The sudden rush of power was a relief, but no sanctuary. Satisfied he wasn't going to break, Shinigami curled his fingers like claws and went after another. 

 

This didn't bring him to his knees, but it hurt in a way he'd never felt outside of Alteza. Shinigami was forcing his soul to its limit, and this was just the start. 

 

Grimmjow had never wished for death before, but he understood Kurosaki now. He fucking understood. It would have been the perfect moment...

  
  


\---xxx---

 

**Harribel**

 

After a time, Harribel found she didn’t need Szayel’s guidance. La sangre moved in a distinct pattern, radiating from its source, and it was easy to follow it back to Kurosaki. It may have been intentional in the hopes others stayed back, Kurosaki didn't like being found, but it could also be out of carelessness. If Kurosaki wasn’t of sound mind, she could assume it was the latter, but she knew him to be mindful. Regardless of the reason, continuing was a definite risk, but one she needed to take. 

 

The figure she found in the desert wasn’t Ichigo. 

 

He stood differently, his presence felt off, and when cold yellow eyes met hers, she knew immediately who it was. Ichigo’s inner spirit regarded her with an indifference and bloodlust that shook her to her bones. He could kill her, and he might do it despite Ichigo's protests.

 

The other moved with startling speed, suddenly before her. That in and of itself wasn't unusual, but this animosity reminded her of before, when his inner spirit had been defending him in his sleep. He wore Ichigo's body as his own, but the behavior was the same. 

 

“What do you want?” He demanded. 

 

“What happened?”

 

The chill in Ichigo's eyes softened and looked for an instant like the man she knew. “He's gone.”

 

Gone? It struck her that Ichigo was alone. Lately, he was never without his shadow. She couldn't pin the emotion roiling in his power until that moment. Despair. 

 

Her eyes widened. “Grimmjow,” she breathed. The spirit looked away, and she realized he was just as affected as Ichigo. “He's...” Dead. She didn’t want to finish that thought, worried the very word might illicit violence. 

 

The spirit wavered, eyes narrowing with a flicker of grief before it condensed into rage. “Out of reach,” he said. He looked away, distracted by something she wasn't privy to, and when his eyes fell to hers again, there was a softness there she hadn't expected to see. A shadow of a smile quirked his lips, looking shockingly like Ichigo, despite the differences in body language. “King likes you. If you're smart, you'll stay away from him.”

 

Harribel tensed. “Why?”

 

The spirit didn't answer her, and his lack of cooperation was as annoying as it was concerning.“He's sorry. He really wants you to know that.” He frowned as if unwilling to repeat his wielders words. “He's sorry he wasn't strong enough.”

 

Harribel took a step forward. “Don’t leave me in the dark.”

 

The spirit shot her a warning look and she stopped. He watched her, and she saw the conversation pass behind his eyes. “He’s going to do something very stupid. He’s going to do a lot of stupid things.”

 

Understanding tightened her chest. “Love.”

 

“If you can call it that.”

 

\---xxx---

 

**Urahara Kisuke**

  
  


Isshin showed up with a very unhappy Fullbringer. He gave him a grim, shallow smile, attention briefly flickering to his daughters. “Girls.” They gave him a look of acknowledgement, but said nothing. It was understandable; they’d been through a lot. They were tough girls, but the strain was starting to show. He looked back to Isshin and asked, “How did you convince him to come?”

 

“I’m here cause I wanna be,” Kugo snarled. “And I ain’t here for you.”

 

Huh. Kisuke shared a look with Isshin, then disregarded Kugo’s answer. He gestured for them to come inside as Karin asked, “Where’s my brother?”

 

“I’m working on it,” Kisuke answered. Yoruichi hopped up on his shoulder as he passed, tail flicking anxiously. It was nice to have company that wasn’t depressed or panicked, and she filled that role nicely. She was deeply upset over the loss of her student, but she compartmentalized better than anyone he’d ever met.

 

He brought them to his lab, despite his internal insistence he keep them as far from it as possible. He tossed Kugo a device that looked part ways between a joystick and an inside out microwave. Numbers flashed on the screen when the fullbringer caught it, numbers far different from the numbers that had been there before. “Thank you, Kugo.”

 

The fullbringer turned the mangled mess of wires and metal in his hands. “The fuck?”

 

“That’s all I needed. You see, developing his power so close to Ichigo had a defining transmutative effect on Chad’s power. I needed a pure Fullbringer.” He hit some keys and took a seat. “Now we can track this creature without you.”

 

“I didn’t agree to this!”

 

“I’m aware.”

 

Isshin came up behind him. “Whatever this thing is, its possessing Grimmjow.” 

 

Kisuke froze, fingers poised over the keys. Shit. “It killed him?”

 

“I don’t know. Ichigo ran.”

 

Chad spoke, startling Isshin. “It took Grimmjow?” The man stepped into the room to stand beside Isshin, concern radiating off him in waves. “That’s…”

 

“Not good,” Isshin agreed.

 

Kisuke made a noise of agreement and concern and stood, heading to another monitor. He entered a command prompt, and waited. An image of Szayel flickered to life, the scientist looking visibly annoyed. “You want to know where he is too, I assume?” The arrancar snapped. 

 

“Too?” Kisuke started, “He isn’t in living world, or Soul Society-”

 

“So he must be here,” Szayel finished.

 

Kisuke noted the sweat on his brow, and the tension in his jaw and guessed, “He’s upset.”

 

Szayel snorted. “Everyone in Hueco Mundo can feel it. Harribel is on her way to his location as we speak.”

 

Isshin asked, “Is that wise?”

 

Whatever Ichigo was doing, it was having an effect on all of Hueco Mundo’s residents. Darkness snaked along the bottom of the screen and rose from the floor in a wave, passing through Szayel’s lower body. The arrancar shuddered and sat back in his chair. He looked visibly winded, but it seemed harmless. Szayel glared at Isshin and snapped, “Likely not.” 

 

Yuzu came up to the monitor and Yoruichi jumped into her arms, offering a bit of comfort where she could. Yuzu held her tight, tears in her eyes.

 

Kugo dropped the tech he’d thrown at him in a heap on the floor, startling everyone present save for Yoruichi and himself. The fullbringer leaned up against the wall and crossed his arms. Kisuke realized it was likely a bit too much to hope he might leave.

 

Isshin asked, “Can Harribel talk him down?”

 

Szayel leaned back in his chair, thoughtful, then answered, “No.”

 

“How can you know?” Karin demanded. “What do  _ you _ know about Ichigo?”

 

Pink eyes settled on Karin, cold and calculating, and to her credit, Kurosaki didn’t back down. “Quite a bit, girl.”  He leaned forward on the console and said, “Harribel has strong ties with Kurosaki, but the hybrid has been putting more  and more distance between them. The only one he listens to anymore is that blue haired buffoon.”

 

The air in the room shifted at the mention of Grimmjow, and while Kisuke trusted his poker face, he did not trust those of young girls. Szayel’s eyes widened when they showed their hand, a flicker of fear in his eyes. “What happened to the Espada?”

 

Kisuke’s eyes shifted to Isshin, letting the burden of that knowledge fall to him. He needed to find this threat. It was more important than finding Ichigo. Wherever Grimmjow was, Ichigo would eventually follow. He moved back to the other monitor and kept working, letting Isshin take over, but that didn’t mean he stopped listening.

 

“He’s still alive,” Isshin said. “I think.”

 

“You  _ think _ ?” Szayel hissed. “Do you know how insane he was before he split off his soul?” Szayel must have thrown something, because he heard the crash through the speakers. “We’re fucked.”

 

“That’s a little defeatist, don’t you think?” Isshin growled.

 

“Either he finally off’s himself and the realms collapse in on themselves without a host, or we get to watch him kill  everyone for the fun of it.”

 

“Someone can talk him down.”

 

“Who?” Szayel challenged. “Jaegerjaquez is indisposed.”

 

“Let me talk to him!” Karin shouted.

 

“Oh, brilliant,” Szayel mocked, “Send a child to face a demigod.”

 

The room devolved into shouting like a match had been dropped in a puddle of gasoline. 

 

“I’ll go!” Ishida shouted.

 

The presence of a new voice was enough to stop the bickering, all eyes turning to face its owner. Kisuke was shocked to see Ishida in the doorway, Tessai hovering behind him. Well that explained how he got in.

 

Chad raised his hand, phone held in his grip, and explained, “I asked him to come.”

 

Karin frowned at Ishida. “I don’t even know who you are. Why would Ichigo listen  _ to you _ ?”

 

“Because I hate him,” Ishida said. The boy looked terrible. He didn’t seem to be sleeping well and he’d thrown on old and wrinkled clothes to rush over. His eyes held grief no boy his age had any right to carry. Kisuke didn’t want to pity him, but he did. 

 

Ishida pushed up his glasses. “All I got was a half-assed text from Chad and I can still see the problem, don’t pretend you all don’t see it. Kurosaki won’t kill the arrancar. You send  _ me  _ because I made the choice that he can’t make.”

 

Silence stretched in the room. Szayel was the first to break it. “Ya ain’t crazy like he is. You can’t reason with crazy.”

 

Kisuke turned back to his computer, clacking away. “It’s better to try and fail, than never try at all.”

  
  


\---xxx---

  
  


**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

Ichigo hadn't believed in Hell, but to stand in the same meadow he'd kissed Grimmjow in, watching him murder the people he wanted to protect…it was Hell. 

 

Each soul Shinigami devoured left Grimmjow in agony. When he'd clawed at his hollow hole, the pressure he put on his soul was external. What Shinigami did was entirely internal. Harder to see, harder to fix...easier to feel.

 

Grimmjow had a lot of pride, he was far from weak, but this was different. Having control stripped away so completely by an enemy was revolting, Ichigo knew, it was a terror he thought all living things felt, it felt too rooted in instinct not to be. He could be cruel, but he wouldn’t wish that kind of powerlessness on anyone. 

 

The arrancar before him looked like Grimmjow, the burn of his reiatsu was almost the same, but he moved like an imposter. Where before his reiatsu was wild and unsettled, now it was forcibly calm. Ichigo barely recognized him. It was the difference between a stormy sea and a lake; it wasn’t the same, and it broke his heart all over again.

 

Even the way Shinigami made Grimmjow kill was wrong. It was methodical, merciless, and completely without feeling. These shinigami were prey to consume. Nothing more, nothing less.

 

Grimmjow wouldn’t kill someone so weak. He wouldn’t kill a cowering weakling; he wouldn’t kill kittens. Shinigami didn’t give him a choice. It was his claws sinking into flesh, it was his soul bearing the weight of their death, and every shinigami it ate made Grimmjow’s soul weaker.

 

Ichigo felt the rising tide of despair in Grimmjow the longer this dragged on. It took Ichigo a moment staring at his back to understand what he was feeling.

 

Grimmjow wanted to die.

 

Ichigo couldn’t give it to him.

 

The very thought of taking his life made his hands shake. He spent every waking moment carefully keeping him alive. To kill him now felt impossible. Was he a coward? selfish, cruel, and weak? He thought he was all of those things and more. The one thing Grimmjow needed from him and he  _ couldn’t give it to him _ .

 

He had all the power in the world to stop this...and he couldn't bring himself to do it. He shouted, “You want me?! You can have me!” His voice cracked, the strength leaving his voice in a rush of pain. “Just give him back.” There was no sense hiding the desperation in his voice, Shinigami knew how much he cared. It wasn’t a demand, he was begging.

 

Shinigami relaxed Grimmjow's grip on its victim and the shinigami crumpled in a heap, a soulless shell. It laughed with  _ his _ voice, slow and full, and it was all wrong. “Eager?” It looked at him, and Ichigo's heart stuttered in his chest. Those eyes lacked the spark he loved; these eyes were dead. “Soon, Kurosaki.”

 

**_“It's weak,”_ ** Zangetsu snarled.  **_“It needs a shield to protect it while it grows. It knows you can shred it like paper.”_ **

 

_ 'I won't...I won’t kill him.’ _

 

**_“I know,”_ ** Zangetsu snarled.

 

Deep in his thoughts, Ossan spoke.  _ “You were used Ichigo, but this was always it's plan. If not Grimmjow, it would have your father or sisters.” _

 

He knew that, but hearing it made it real. He was seconds late, but those vital seconds could have cost him  _ everything _ , not only Grimmjow. Ichigo had trusted Grimmjow with his family for a long time, although his reasons had changed. At first it was because he knew Grimmjow feared him, and the arrancar wasn't coward enough to kill weaklings. Now it was for him. 

 

He'd done something Ichigo didn't think was possible. Channeling la sangre was possible for a conduit, but to manipulate it? It savaged his body and his soul in a way Ichigo could actually see. His hair was more black than blue, a shade darker than he’d come to expect. 

 

Only four shinigami left, Ichigo wasn’t sure where it would go next. It was getting stronger. He couldn’t feel it directly, but Grimmjow was soaked in la sangre, Ichigo felt Shinigami strain the dark holding Grimmjow’s body intact.

 

_ “Saving your family granted Shinigami an opportunity.” _

 

'I don't understand,’ Ichigo said. Grimmjow consumed his thoughts, his mind was struggling to think, to plan, to move past that singular moment of failure. 

 

Ossan was patient with him, gentle, in a way he rarely ever was.  _ “I know you can sense it Ichigo, la sangre's presence in him has grown. Grimmjow would likely be dead without it.” _

 

Ichigo knew Ossan couldn't necessarily feel la sangre, but he'd grown used to sensing gaps and filling in the blanks. Even he could see it. Was it a blessing or a curse, that Grimmjow lived? If it killed him, would it have dragged around his corpse?

 

Bile rose in his throat at the thought, refusing to believe he was out of reach.  _ Think _ . But Grimmjow stood less than twenty feet away, wind tugging his long hair across broad shoulders. Familiar, but not. He’d barely got to know him, and he was gone.

 

Gonegonegonegone

 

**_“Stop.”_ **

 

Ichigo tried, sucking in a deep, calculated breath. Pain wouldn’t help him...but rage could. It was hard to grip when he could  _ feel _ Grimmjow breaking. The very fact Shinigami forced him into in his segunda etapa meant the strain was killing his arrancar. Shinigami was going slow to keep his hostage alive, it was necessity, not mercy. 

 

The moment Shinigami killed it’s host...kill his arrancar...Ichigo would kill him. He hovered close by, hoping for both a mistake and a miracle. Part of him hoped Shinigami would slip, that Grimmjow would die. That hope made him feel filthy. Relying on an enemy to kill when he couldn’t? Pathetic.

 

The Gods howled at him to do it, a sea of power sinking into his thoughts and guiding his hand. The Gods felt the pestilence in their world and yearned to snuff it out. Self preservation overrode entropy in a need that reminded him of the drive he felt to remove the Hogyoku. It was one of the few things that made the Gods feel alive. Needs were reserved for living things. And the Gods existed, alive in their own convoluted way.

 

It was a hard thing to fight.

 

The physical need to kill Grimmjow conflicted with his heart, and it was difficult not to panic. If he stopped thinking about it, he might just kill him by accident.

 

He grit his teeth in a flash of anger. His fist tightened around Zangetsu’s hilt and in a heartbeat, he’d sunk his sword through the chest of a felled shinigami. It did nothing to satisfy the craving in his soul. That parasite was still free, it needed to die. He shuddered, tension coiling in his chest.

 

_ “Don’t panic, Ichigo.” _

 

**N’GHA N’GHA N’GHA N’GHA N’GHA N’GHA-**

 

Don’t panic...

 

He made a sound too close to a whimper and hissed, “ _ Shut up. _ ”

 

Ichigo felt Shinigami's attention on him and he looked up, meeting flat blue eyes. It was looking at him, and he hated it so much. It was like Grimmjow was already dead. No-nonono, he was alive and suffering and it was his fault. 

 

That thing spoke using his voice. “Careful, godling.”

 

“Shut up!” It was a demand, but it sounded as desperate as he felt. He couldn't look at him anymore, it tied his breath up in knots. So he turned his back, yanking his sword from the body of a ghost. He asked it, “Why do you have to kill them? You want the Kugeki, Sunyata, la sangre? Take it!”

 

Shinigami laughed. “And kill my host? It very nearly killed itself.” It was suddenly too close, breath gusting over the nape of his neck. “I am a plague to the minds of Gods. I feast on their precious children,” it gloated. “Do the Gods howl for my death?”

 

Ichigo stood still, refusing to turn to face him. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to forget the body Shinigami wore. “Why didn’t my predecessors destroy you?”

 

“Destroy death?” It circled to stand before him and he the need to destroy it bubbled up in his throat in a growl. It leaned too close, and his hand snapped out for his throat, tight, but it could still speak. “Greedy, tiny things,” it rasped. “Always seeking to control.”

 

Ichigo glared at it, his heart pounding with the fear he might kill Grimmjow without intending to. He peeled his fingers from his throat, hands shaking and snarled, “I’ll destroy you.”

 

It leaned in close, pinning him with shocking blue eyes, Grimmjow’s reiatsu teasing his skin, featherlight and wrong. Ichigo’s heart skipped in his chest at the accusation it hissed, “ _ Liar _ .”

 

\---xxx---

 

**Rukia**

 

When Kurosaki Ichigo was in pain, everyone in the Gotei 13 knew it. They knew, but didn't speak of it, they weren't sure how. A shared, uncomfortable look was as far as most got. Sometimes Renji raised the question, but he never dug for details. It felt like a deep invasion of privacy, and for all of their faults, they could all acknowledge how invasive it truly was.

 

Kurosaki was hurting. A sudden shock to the heart, and all of the Gotei 13 was on edge. What could they do about it? Nothing. And so nothing was said. Everyone knew, but rather than risk frightening their subordinates, they remained silent. 

 

The body of the shinigami she'd been sent home with was in a tent behind her. She had his name now, but she didn't know him. That could be her. It was the look Kurosaki had given her, one of contemplative fear. She'd seen a similar look in her brothers eyes before. She wasn't weak, they knew that, but she could understand fear. 

 

She felt it too, in every injury or buried weakness she saw in her brother. He still couldn't fight, not well. He brushed off her concern, as was his way, but he couldn't hide from her. She noticed his jaw clench when he twisted too far or moved too quickly. It was hard to forget he would be dead without Orihime.

 

It was hard to forget she was gone. An unfortunate casualty in a war she had no sense being part of. A war none of them belonged in.

 

Now Ichigo was playing a game on a stage none of them could ever hope to reach. Demigod indeed. None of them had any reason to meddle with the Gods, it was out of their hands. That responsibility lay in Ichigo’s hands; clawed and scarred. It was so easy to forget he was the same highschool boy she’d met only a few years ago.

 

His responsibilities were at a level she simply didn’t understand. She wasn’t even sure Grimmjow understood. Ichigo was full of secrets,until very recently he’d kept everything to himself. She knew he was trying to share that burden with Grimmjow, but Rukia wasn’t so certain he could take it. 

 

With the borders between worlds as unstable as they were, hollows were a rare sight in Soul Society. Patrols were often unnecessary, at least among higher ranking officers. The worst they saw these days were street gangs and petty theft with the hollows were locked in Hueco Mundo until further notice.

 

This made the sudden alarm and flurry of activity much more concerning than it might have been before. Shouts rose above the camp, but the source concerned her the most. That was Grimmjow's reiatsu, she would know it anywhere.

 

It flared with the intensity reserved for a battle, but it lacked the bloodlust that should have accompanied it. She knew Grimmjow, she wasn't scared so much as baffled. Ichigo wouldn't let him do this, he kept the arrancar in line. So he was alone?

 

Her confusion persisted as she rushed through lines of tents and scrambling shinigami. Orders were shouted, but chaos still buzzed among them. If she wasn't so set on her destination, she would have joined in organizing the mess, it was damn near pathetic how disorganized they were.

 

She pushed through a line of seated officers and audibly gasped. Grimmjow was in resurreccion, one she'd never seen before. Sweeping black fur ran along his arms and down his spine, but clutched in mangled fingers was the throat of a shinigami.

 

He didn't stand with the cocky arrogance she'd come to expect, he was  _ off _ , and Ichigo wasn't there. She drew her sword and shouted, “Grimmjow!”

 

He didn't look. He dropped the shinigami and turned to the next without a lick of concern for the shinigami around him. His reiatsu was crushing the lower ranked officers, they couldn't even run. Personally, she was starting to sweat, she hadn't known Grimmjow was this strong.

 

He lifted a hand for a sweating, cowering unseated shinigami, and Rukia lunged, swinging for the back of his neck.

 

She froze, stopping her blade short just inches from Ichigo's face. It wasn't merely his sudden appearance that stopped her, it was the look in his eyes. She thought she'd seen pain there before, but she was horribly wrong. This was beyond distress, he wasn't even hiding it.

 

He reached up, pushing her blade out of his face with the back of his hand. Apology and grief swam in cold, yellow eyes. “I'm sorry.”

 

Dread flushed her veins with acid. “Ichigo?”

 

The demigod looked away, and her eyes fell to Grimmjow. The arrancar dropped a lifeless shinigami in a sickening heap and stepped around the body with unsettling indifference.

 

This wasn't the arrancar she knew, this was an enemy. A dangerous enemy. Why wasn't Ichigo doing anything?

 

She shouted, “Ichigo, what are you doing?! Stop him!”

 

La sangre rushed in the space between them and she fell back, zanpakuto raised. It felt like such a pointless, foolish action. She had seen Ichigo fight; he was ruthless and savage and skilled, even without the Gods, she couldn’t even dream of cutting him. Next to power like that, she was as good as a child waving a stick, and from the stricken look on Ichigo's face, he knew how unfair it was. 

 

She shouted, “Ichigo, answer me!”

 

Grimmjow caught another shinigami in his claws and la sangre expanded and encompassed the three of them. A million tiny blossoms struck Ichigo's barrier, splashing against black in a harmless wave. Ichigo didn't even turn to look, her brother's bankai was useless against him and he knew it, but it wasn't in her brother not to try. Her brother's icy voice carried, despite how quietly he spoke. “What is the meaning of this? Explain yourself.”

 

Ichigo stayed silent, he wouldn't look at anyone, not even Grimmjow. She realized what she felt from him wasn't just grief, but shame.

 

She’d thought Ichigo looked stretched thin before, but he wasn’t trying to hide anymore. That hunted aggression was back in the tension in his shoulders and the unblinking look he leveled at the people around him. He often tried his hardest to appear less intimidating, but that front was gone. The person that stood before her scared her.

 

The arrancar was turned away, and when he spoke, her skin crawled, “Choose, godling...the few or the many?” He pointed with a twisted, clawed finger directly at Rukia and her stomach twisted. “This host is very opposed to killing this one. Choose, or she's next.” 

 

Rukia grip on her sword tightened and Ichigo finally looked at Grimmjow, his voice thick with emotion. “No.”

 

In a flurry of sonido she could barely track, Grimmjow was suddenly in her face. She swung, and her sword struck the armor across Ichigo's back, his hand clenched tight around claws poised to sever her head. She swallowed her panic, cautiously jumping back to observe and understand. 

 

Her brother’s bankai swirled and jabbed at weakness in Ichigo’s defenses, but la sangre reacted with a speed and aggressiveness she didn’t think Ichigo was in full control of. The few glances he spared her brother seemed to be out of a desire to hold back.

 

Grimmjow smiled at Ichigo, the expression looking distinctly wrong. The arrancar’s legs buckled, knees striking the ground, and panic flared in Ichigo’s soul. Slowly, Ichigo pried his fingers from Grimmjow’s wrist, and he answered softly, “The few.”

 

It suddenly clicked. She lowered her sword and whispered, “Oh, Ichigo…” 

 

Something had taken Grimmjow's body hostage, something Ichigo couldn't kill, within someone he  _ wouldn't _ kill. Ichigo might hurt the arrancar, but he was gentle with him in a way that was nothing short of love. 

 

Gin's voice carried from out of sight, and Rukia’s attention was drawn when he stepped from a row of tents into the clearing. “You know, kid...ya ain’t like Aizen. Yer worse.”

 

Rukia’s eyes snapped back to Ichigo. That shame in his soul only deepened when Gin drew his sword. “Don’t get me wrong, I like ya, kid, I really do.”

 

Grimmjow was back on his feet, eyes set on her brother. Rukia’s stomach bottomed out. She released her sword with a shout, “Dance, Sode no Shirayuki!” She stabbed the ground and her command rang around the camp. “Juhaku!”

 

The thing controlling Grimmjow didn't even look, the ice that spiked from the ground towards her target was shattered with nothing more than a wave of Ichigo's hand. She screamed in frustration. “No!”

 

Ichigo turned to look at her in distress.  

 

“I understand,” Gin purred. ”I'm selfish too.” He drew his sword, skipping directly into bankai. He didn't look particularly concerned, but Ichigo did. 

 

Grimmjow was getting closer to her brother and she knew he would never run from a fight. She couldn't lose him, she could barely handle seeing him in pain, and now he stood in the way of monsters.

 

She swung again, but her ice was shattered into sparkling mist with little more than a look from Ichigo. The hybrid lifted a hand and crushed her brother's bankai in an explosion of darkness and glittering pink shards. It was a beautiful defeat, and it left her brother standing defenseless with his head held high. Tears burned her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.”Nii-san!” She couldn't lose him too.

 

Gin struck at Ichigo with speed she couldn’t even track, she only knew he’d attacked when his lengthened zanpakuto was held tight in Ichigo’s hand. The hybrid jerked his hand to the side, shattering his bankai, and Gin didn’t seem surprised, he even looked expectant. “A monster with a conscience...ain’t that somethin’ else.”

 

Ichigo shouted, “Shinigami!” Grimmjow stopped just yards from her brother. “You want me to choose.” Ichigo’s eyes were locked on Gin’s, resolved, even among the turmoil in his heart. “I chose.”

 

Gin looked at the hilt in his hand, and she couldn’t understand his expression. It was one of the few times she hadn’t seen him smiling. He looked back at Ichigo, something unspoken passing between them. Ichigo moved, suddenly  before Gin, and she made a helpless sound, something wordless and distressed, and stared in shock. 

 

it took her a moment to fathom Ichigo’s sword was through Gin’s heart. He’d killed him. Ichigo  _ killed _ him. 

 

Sword hilt slipping from his grip, it struck the dirt at his feet. Gin coughed up blood and smiled through bloody teeth, a peaceful expression she’d never seen on his face before. Ichigo pulled his sword from his chest with a sound that struck her in the gut. 

 

Realization sank into her bones and stole the air from her lungs. Ichigo was their enemy.

 

Her sword shivered, the shock trembling in her hands, and she lowered her sword. What could she do? Ichigo wouldn’t kill  _ her _ . But she couldn’t stop him either.  _ Useless _ .

 

Gin collapsed, but Ichigo caught him with the care he would catch a friend. Gin’s words rang in her head; monster with a conscience. She couldn’t even hate him, killing Gin was a blow to his own heart, she could feel it. Ichigo said he was sorry, and he’d meant it, she could nearly taste his guilt.

 

With the buzz of sonido, Grimmjow was there, his hand around Gin’s throat. Ichigo reluctantly let Gin go, and stepped back. A shudder passed through Grimmjow’s frame, swaying on his feet. He dropped Gin with no care,The arrancar fell to a knee and looked up at Ichigo. “This one was strong. More.”

 

Ichigo’s eyes narrowed, sealing off the pain in his heart. Rukia spoke, her voice soft, but Ichigo heard her, and turned to look. “Why are you doing this?”

 

His brows scrunched in pain, and he looked away, his shoulders falling with a sharp exhale. “I have to.”

 

“Ichigo!”

 

He flinched, and in a swirl of color, she was left standing alone, surrounded by trees in complete silence. He’d sent her away... _ he’d sent her away.  _ “Damn you, Ichigo,” she hissed. 

 

She sensed no one, no reiatsu, no living souls. Her knees hit the ground and she let out a slow, rattling breath. She closed her eyes, the sound of Ichigo’s sword sliding through bone and blood rang in her head. Ichigo was no longer a friend. 

  
  


\---xxx---

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

The look Rukia gave him.  _ Monster _ . He couldn’t do this with her screaming at him, looking at him in disappointment...he couldn’t. So he sent her away. Coward, coward, coward…

 

Gin’s body was still warm when Shinigami ate his soul. His heart ached in his chest, at the very least reminding him he still had a heart, despite the yawning hole in his chest. Killing was one thing, but promising someone nonexistence was another. Gin knew, he knew this was it, and he did it for her. 

 

Zangetsu…

 

**_“I’m here, King.”_ **

 

_ ‘I can’t do this.’ _

 

Blood spilled from Grimmjow’s lips, snaking in thin lines down his neck. “More.”

 

Ichigo’s brows drew together and he stared in horror.  More. How many more of his friends had to die for his mistake? How many…

 

**_“King, it’s your choice.”_ **

 

Ichigo whispered, “I’m not an executioner. I’m not.”

 

**_“King if you don’t choose, it chooses for you.”_ **

 

Kyoraku shouted from somewhere behind him. “Ichigo!” There was rage in his voice Ichigo had never heard before, and had never wanted to hear.

 

He tore his eyes away from Grimmjow and turned to face him, steeling his heart when he saw the look on his face. This was a deep betrayal, Kyoraku had shown some trust in him, and he threw all that work away. Forced by his own heart into becoming something he despised. 

 

Kyoraku didn’t bother drawing his sword as he faced him, they both knew he couldn’t hurt him. “Why?”

 

Ichigo didn’t know how to answer. Was it really for love? This felt evil, this was wrong.

 

But he needed him.

 

“Why!”

 

Ichigo heard Shinigami straighten, sensing the damage he’d done to Grimmjow’s body by devouring such an old,  powerful soul. This was killing Grimmjow faster, but it also meant less of his friends...less shinigami had to die. Ichigo glanced down at Gin’s body, his throat tight. A sacrifice to protect someone he loved. Ichigo understood only too well, but he never thought he’d be the executioner. 

 

Worse than Aizen indeed. He lowered their guard, he didn’t fake his feelings towards them like Aizen; they were real. And didn’t that just make it worse. “I can’t let him die,” Ichigo said, “I can’t.”

 

Byakuya finally spoke, understanding at least that he had no intention of killing his sister. “What gives you the right to decide who lives and who dies?”

 

A hysterical laugh bubbled out of his chest, and Ichigo answered, “Nothing.” He dropped his reiatsu across all of Soul Society, heavy and oppressive. He found the shinigami he wanted with ease. He didn’t want to kill, but the Gods did, and it tainted his reiatsu with killing intent. 

 

Finally bending beneath his power, Kyoraku’s knees hit the ground and Ichigo’s stomach twisted. This wasn’t what he wanted, but this was the path he’d chosen, he couldn’t shy away from it now.

 

Pulling on the Kugeki, Ichigo ripped Mayuri from his hiding place. The one person he’d gladly judge and kill, he loathed this shinigami with all his heart. He did more than wrong his kin, he was an evil sonovabitch and Ichigo would gladly watch him die. Why pretend his choices were random?

 

Mayuri stared, wide-eyed in the realization he was going to die. Evil, but not stupid. Ichigo drew Zangetsu and severed his head in the same motion. The shinigami’s head didn’t roll far, and Ichigo suppressed the urge to crush his skull underfoot. He wasn’t sure whose desire that was; his own, or Adaliz. It was all so murky. 

 

Shinigami didn’t waste that opportunity, sinking Grimmjow’s claws into the body to drain the captain of his soul. Grimmjow’s body seized in pain, blood running from his nose, but Shinigami twisted his lips into a smile. “More.”

 

Kyoraku gasped through the weight of his reiatsu, but managed to ask, “What are you feeding?”

 

Laughter fell from Grimmjow, laughter that sent a chill up Ichigo’s spine, and Shinigami answered in Ichigo’s stead. “ _ Death _ , little soul.” It accused, “ _ Imposter _ . You steal my name and wear it proudly. You, with fear and such tiny understanding.”

 

For something that needed to hide in a body to keep Ichigo from killing it, it sure talked big. “I could kill you,” Ichigo snarled.

 

Shinigami struggled to stand, a smile on its face. “With power granted you by Gods that have no understanding  of the world that they dream. Human emotions corrupt, and the Gods corrupt in turn.”

 

Ichigo wasn’t so sure he understood, or had the mental capacity to try. 

 

“We need each other, Kurosaki Ichigo. You’ve tasted their madness; it swims in your thoughts and seeps through your bones. It has a rapacious appetite, does it not?  _ Give it to me.” _

 

Need. Ichigo bared his teeth, his reiatsu falling heavy around him. “You have no idea what that means!”

 

Ossan warned, “ _ Careful, Ichigo. Pull your power back.” _

 

Ichigo heeded that warning, baring his teeth in disgust. He lifted his reiatsu enough to keep from killing anyone, but they were still pinned like butterflies, completely at his mercy. It disgusted him than any part of himself might like it. He didn’t even know if it was his own impulse or someone else’s. 

 

He pulled Kenpachi to him, and the first thing the man did was try to skewer him. Ichigo leaned out of the way of the jab for his eye, his hand tightening over the scarred Zanpakuto's blade. He felt his sword’s agony, but there was a connection there that hadn’t been there before. Good instincts, he didn’t want to kill him, but he was strong, and so was the kugeki in his soul.

 

He gave Kenpachi a look of apology. “Such a waste.”

 

Kenpachi smiled, well aware of the gap in their power. He abandoned his sword to try with his bare hands. The man lunged, wrapped up in his own reiatsu like a shroud. Ichigo moved, a clawed hand on his chest slamming Kenpachi to his back. The ground cratered under the impact, more than one of his ribs snapping under the impact. He couldn’t win, but he’d tried. Kenpachi laughed hoarsely, “Can’t say I’ve got regrets.” He tried to stand, but Ichigo slammed the weight of his reiatsu down on him. He didn’t have time to humor his endurance.

 

Ichigo tossed Kenpachi’s sword aside and drew his own. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the fight you wanted.”

 

“Ain’t got time for weaklings.” He heaved a breath. “I can respect that.”

 

Ichigo stabbed his sword through his heart, shame singing in his veins. He wasn’t proud of this, but at the very least they could die by the sword, and not at the hands of a monster that had never been human. It was the best he could do, not even Mayuri deserved that sort of death. He was supposed to be their keeper, the Gods forced that job onto his shoulders, he could at least have the fortitude to kill them himself.

 

Shinigami took that sacrifice and it crushed Grimmjow, he felt it rock his own soul, searing and painful. Grimmjow coughed, blood splattering the ground. It fell from his eyes, streaking his cheeks in red and his whole body trembled. 

 

Ichigo swallowed, panic rising in his chest, and he asked, “Is it enough?”

 

Voice wet with blood, Shinigami rasped, “More.”

 

“He’ll die.”

 

“More.”

 

Chest tight, Ichigo realized he had to choose. An older shinigami might kill Grimmjow...but a young one...Bile rose in his throat, and before he lost his nerve, he dragged Hitsugaya through the Kugeki, startling the shinigami when he suddenly had his hand around his throat. His neck felt small beneath his palm, fragile. So much talent, so much potential.

 

Hitsugaya reached for his sword, and Ichigo let him draw it. Dark hair curtained around the blade when it struck his neck to no avail.

 

Ukitake’s voice cut through his thoughts, straining from beneath his reiatsu at the edge of his dark boundary, la sangre nipping at his toes.  “Take me instead! Damn you!” His plea cut off into a coughing fit, and Ichigo wavered. Ukitake was old, but weak. Could he be substitute enough?

 

Ichigo dropped Hitsugaya and turned to face Ukitake. Rukia would never forgive him for this. How could she? The lives of her friends and allies for Grimmjow. And her teacher, a man she loved and respected, who was so ready to die for her sake.

 

Wisely, Hitsugaya staggered back, sword still raised, for what little good it would do for him. Ichigo was torn, when he heard  a voice he never expected to hear again. “So you really are a monster...I should have let your own power cripple you!”

 

“Ishida?”

 

He stood between a row of tents, his reiatsu pathetically small compared to the Ishida he’d remembered in his past. Hate burned in Ishida’s eyes, a look Ichigo had very rarely seen leveled at him, and rarely from someone he once saw as a friend.

 

“Can’t kill him, can you?” Ishida threw  his arm out. “Look at him! Would you want to die like this? Can you not even spare mercy for someone you love?”

 

Tear fell down Ichigo’s face, hidden among the warlike streaks painting his cheeks. “Stop,” he begged.

 

“You think it didn’t rip my heart out to k-” Ishida swallowed, throat too tight to carry on. “To kill her?” Ichigo had  nothing to say to defend himself. Nothing at all. Ishida chanced stepping closer, hands fisted at his sides. “You’re letting this happen, this is on you! How many more people have to die, Kurosaki?”

 

Ichigo stared, eyes wide, and asked softly, “How did you do it?”

 

“She begged me to, Ichigo.” Ishida spat, “Don’t tell me he didn’t beg you to spare him this.”

 

“I can’t,”  Ichigo whispered. “I can’t…”

 

“Coward!”

 

Yes, more than a coward, a monster. 

 

Ishida stepped closer and hissed, “No more, Kurosaki. End it.”

 

End it…

 

Ichigo grit his teeth, looking down at Grimmjow. Shinigami spluttered on blood, demanding, “ _ More _ .”  

 

“I’m so sorry,” Ichigo whispered. 

 

He didn’t know who he was talking to anymore. 

 

His heart hurt. Grimmjow hurt.

 

Stepping into sonido, Ichigo stabbed Ukitake, locking eyes with the shinigami that had tried so hard to  help him. Kyoraku shouted in panic and pain, and Ichigo stumbled over his words. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry….”

 

Ukitake reached for his cheek. Ichigo flinched, but allowed it, brows furrowed against his hand. The shinigami struggled to get the words out, but Ichigo understood, “I’m sorry we failed you.” He jerked his sword from his chest, and was grateful for once for his cowardice. Rukia didn’t need to see this. She didn’t need the memory of her mentor dying, killed by someone who used to be her friend.

 

He couldn’t look at Kyoraku, he could only listen to him scream. He knew the two were close, he’d taken someone the Soutaichou loved as a price to pay for keeping his own love alive. He was the monster he always feared he was. Aizen was right.

 

Dragging Ukitake’s body back to Shinigami, he laid him down, pulling la sangre in close in defense. “Now leave him.”

 

Sinking Grimmjow’s claws into the fresh body at his feet, his arrancar’s body shuddered, Shinigami devouring Ukitake’s soul. Ichigo’s hands shook, watching in horror as Grimmjow vomited blood. He was doused in it, red matting cat-like ears. Ichigo grabbed grimmjow’s face with both hands, shouting at Shinigami. “Take  _ me _ ! Leave him!”

 

Grimmjow’s shoulders shook with laughter, but Grimmjow’s body couldn’t accommodate it. Blood gushed from his lips and he looked up, eyes dull. 

 

Shinigami left Grimmjow’s body in a sudden flurry of motion, the thing sweeping into his soul and sinking into his body.  

 

Ichigo screamed. The Gods vehemently disagreed with the sudden encroachment, surging back against this new entity, but this time, Shinigami was stronger. 

 

It dissolved away the Gods presence in his soul, devouring it with the wash of hungry need. The Gods fought, but  Shinigami resisted.

 

It didn’t last long at all, Shinigami filling up all the spaces in his soul it had devoured the Gods. Ichigo’s chest heaved,  blinking up at the sky as the acid in his veins faded. He sat bolt upright.  _ Grimmjow _ . 

 

His arrancar was struggling to breath around his own blood, a pool of it gathering in the hollow of his throat. Ichigo lunged for his unbroken hand, squeezing it, and turned him on his side so he wouldn’t drown. He tried to heal  him...nothing happened. “Nonononono-”

 

Grimmjow coughed blood wet on his lips, his eyes unfocused on the ground, but his arrancar knew he was there. “What did you do...Ichigo?”

 

Ichigo...he’d never used his name before. “ _ I need you. _ ”

 

Grimmjow’s shoulders convulsed with real laughter, but he made no sound. “Been wantin’...to hear that. Don’t  think...it matters anymore.”

 

Ichigo focused on his heart, his hand pressed flat to his chest. “You can’t-” His throat tightened, struggling to heal Grimmjow’s shattered body. It  _ wasn’t working _ . Shinigami’s power was out of reach, it rejected la sangre, and the kugeki; he tried  _ everything _ .

 

Failure, failure, failure, NO.

 

“I think...I’m done,” Grimmjow rasped. Shocking blue eyes were sightless and dull with defeat. He did this, he did this to him.

 

Lifting him to his chest, Ichigo held him tight, but Grimmjow didn’t move, he barely breathed. He felt so small in his  arms. Fragile. Only human.

 

Pressing his cheek to his throat, Ichigo sobbed, and he knew Grimmjow was right. 

 

All of that...for what?

 

His arrancar’s heart struggled, it fluttered in his chest and Ichigo  _ knew _ . He grit his teeth and hissed, “I love you.” Grimmjow was limp in his arms, cold. He could count his heartbeats. Slow. Too slow.

 

And Grimmjow’s heart stopped. 

 

He was still.

 

Ichigo’s breath twisted in his throat, blood pounding in his ears.

 

Blood dripped from Grimmjow’s hair, it was wet on his lips, and he wasn’t moving...he wasn’t going to move.

 

He was-

 

Grimmjow was…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m very sorry ; A ; THIS ISN’T THE END. IT’S NEVER THE END. I CAN’T END A STORY SAD.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, SO MUCH POV CHANGING I’m sorry! It felt appropriate. Blame Morgan for the cliffhanger, he made me do it, he's probably still laughing


	8. Hametsu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hametsu(Japanese): Ruin
> 
> \---
> 
> Thanks to Vikishus, Mirelurk and Crypt for beta reading this monster!!! What would I do without you guys D>

 

 

**Shunsui Kyoraku**

 

His best friend was dead. 

 

You don’t take up the sword and expect a life without bloodshed and loss, but to see it happen before his eyes, to be helpless to stop it...he’d never been prepared for that. His hair was splayed over the ground like melting snow, red staining his skin. Decades had passed with this man at his side, and now...

 

He wanted to hate Kurosaki. Despise him.

 

He couldn’t. 

 

Seeing him holding his broken, dead lover...it hurt. Worse, he understood. He felt Kurosaki’s pain alongside his own; His guilt, his shame, his sorrow. He couldn't see Kurosaki’s expression, but he didn’t have to. He saw only the shake of his shoulders as he sobbed. All of that death...for nothing. 

 

He was the Soutaichou. Get up, do something,  _ give orders. _

 

But what order could he give? A young, broken-hearted God held their fate in his hands. A God he couldn't hope to beat and one that didn't trust anyone. 

 

His thoughts crawled to a stop when he heard the shift in Kurosaki. Sobs grew into full bodied laughter and it sounded less than sane. Kurosaki let his head fall back, wicked horns pointed skyward, and he laughed and laughed and laughed. 

 

It was a sound full of broken agony, and one he didn't want to hear. Could he blame the boy? Fear on their part and his own had isolated him, and fear was a powerful, dangerous motivator. It was hard to remind himself that this demigod was at heart a damaged boy.

 

Should he be shocked that a boy that was raised with violence relied on violence to protect himself? Shunsui couldn't forgive murder, but he could understand why it happened. 

 

That arrancar was how he coped, how he stayed rational. Shunsui had seen this arrancar pull him back from murder with little more than a touch or a look. It seemed Kurosaki trusted one person, and now that person was dead.

 

This had been an impossible choice, posed to a young and very powerful soul on the verge of collapse. Shunsui wanted to hate him, but he couldn't find the strength left to hate. The hybrid painted a pathetic picture, his heart was broken, and all Shunsui felt was sadness. 

 

Kurosaki abruptly stopped laughing, gritting his teeth through a sob. La sangre churned around the pair, and he was gone. He left no trace behind, not even blood. 

 

For long time, Kyoraku just stared at the spot he used to be. People always said things happened fast. This was  _ too _ fast. No goodbye’s, no dread, his friend was just...gone. All that remained were regrets.

 

Kyoraku stood and paced over to Ukitake, his chest feeling heavy and hollow. He’d always worried for his friend, he was too kind, too eager to throw his life away for others. That selflessness cost him in the end, but Hitsugaya was alive, his friend would be happy he’d made a difference.

 

Byakuya spoke from some distance away. “I would like to go look for Rukia if you have no need of me.”

 

“Go. There’s nothing you can do here.” The shinigami that lay dead weren’t a part of his division, Byakuya had no real reason to stay. The captain left in a sudden burst of shunpo and Kyoraku crouched, gathering Ukitake into his arms. 

 

He felt too light, and it twisted his stomach into knots to know he wasn't ever going to smile at him again. Damn you, Kurosaki…

 

He was torn from his thoughts by Hitsugaya’s voice. “Soutaichou...what do we do?” Kyoraku thought he did a good job hiding how rattled he was.

 

Kyoraku sighed, “There's nothing we can do.”

 

\---xxx---

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

Glassy black sand cut into his knees, abrasive and cold. It was silent, save for the deep, impossibly huge beating of a heart. Ichigo found the hum in the air to be soothing, and the darkness was a comfort. He didn’t want to see Grimmjow’s empty eyes, or the blood sticky and drying on his skin. But darkness couldn’t hide that reality from him, not with the Gods aiding his sight.

 

He kept him safe all those years, and in the end he still killed him. It was all his fault. 

 

Panic buzzed under his skin and kept a scream tangled up in every breath he took. He couldn’t fall apart, not yet, not now; he had to try to bring him back, or it was all for nothing.

 

After death, so many souls wanted to scatter and return to Alteza. He didn't let them. He trapped his soul in his body, he could do that much, even if it was hard. He bound them together and refused to believe this was it, that he’d never speak to him again.

 

“The arrancar is dead, godling.” The voice rang in his ears as if it was spoken beside him, but Ichigo knew better.

 

Rage boiled in his blood and he snarled, “I'll find a way to kill you.”

 

“You would be condemning yourself.”

 

“So be it,” Ichigo hissed. Without the hope he might still save Grimmjow, he might have already done it. Grimmjow deserved better than to die a slave to the will of some monster. He couldn’t let him go, he couldn’t.

 

He held the scraps of his soul in his hands, he was gone, gone... _ gone _ .

 

He squeezed Grimmjow to his chest and grit his teeth through a scream, the sand around him twisting and raging with his emotions. “If I have to rip out my own heart, I’ll kill you.” He hissed it like a mantra,  “I’llkillyouI’llkillyouI’llkillyouI’llkillyou-”

 

Strong arms wrapped around him from behind, and Ichigo didn’t flinch; he knew his hollow well, he was safe, he had  no reason to fear him, and his touch was enough to stall his thoughts. 

 

He was still alone, very alone, but Zangetsu’s arms around his neck earned his attention. “Easy, King. Easy….” Zangetsu leaned into his back, pressing the hard line of his Khyber blade against his spine. His hollow traced a gentle path along the hollow of his throat and promised, “We’ll bring him back.”  

 

“I don’t know how,” Ichigo whispered.

 

“The Gods took everything, but they also granted you power. Use it.” He pressed his forehead to the back of his neck and hissed, “ _ Use it _ , King.  _ Take what you want _ .” 

 

Zangetsu’s grip on his neck tightened, but he wasn’t afraid, it was only a comfort. Ichigo whispered, “I did use it...I killed them. I didn’t want to-”

 

“I know,” Zangetsu soothed. He tugged his head back, baring his throat, and held him. “You have all the time in the world.”

 

His hollow was right. He was a soul propped up by Gods, he might as well be immortal. If anyone had a chance, it was him.

 

“Buy time for koneko. You can’t hold his soul in your hands forever.”

 

Zangetsu was talking sense. Sense he still struggled to comprehend while his mind held Grimmjow’s last words tight. Ichigo leaned back against Zangetsu, threading his fingers through Grimmjow’s hair. It was long and tangled, his body frozen in his Segunda Etapa. He squeezed a soft, furred ear, disgusted by la sangre's nipping insistence Grimmjow's soul be devoured. 

 

No. Not this one.

 

He could still sense his feral soul dominating the souls trapped within it, and it nearly made him smile. Even wrung out and broken, his soul still fought. But he was no longer his conduit. Those ties fell apart in his hands, shredded by death.

 

Ichigo reached for la sangre, feeling it shift through his soul and he stiffened in pain. 

 

“Shinigami,” Ichigo said, “Distance my connection with the Gods and I’ll drive my sword through my heart.” Zangetsu knew his threat was genuine, and his grip momentarily tightened. 

 

“I can stop you,” Shinigami said.

 

“You can’t stop my hollow,” Ichigo snapped.

 

“The Gods won’t let you die.”

 

It was a fact and they both knew it. Ichigo grit his teeth in frustration, rage driving his thoughts to irrational ends. All of his power and his control had slipped away to nothing but threads. It was easier to rage than drown in panic, the thought that his life was no longer his own was terrifying. His life had never been his.

 

Not fair. It was never fair, most things weren’t. He sucked in a fragile breath, and Zangetsu tightened his grip, claws pressuring flesh enough to hurt. It gave him something to think about beyond heartache and fear. 

 

Shinigami suddenly spoke. “You desire to keep control?”

 

“What kind of question is that?” Ichigo meant to sound annoyed, but his voice broke, and he just sounded pathetic.

 

“That will require sacrifice,” it said. If Shinigami noticed or cared about that weakness, Ichigo couldn’t tell. 

 

“What kind of sacrifice?” Ichigo asked softly.

 

“Souls.”

 

Of course, it wanted souls. “Why?”

 

“I feed through your soul, godling. The more of the God's raw essence you draw into your soul, the less of your soul remains. From the look of your soul, you know that. I can't undo the damage you’ve done to yourself, I won’t kill my only host.” It chuckled. “It isn't wise to set fire to the house you live in “

 

Ichigo hissed, “You don’t  _ need _ a host.”

 

“No.”

 

_ “Get out _ ,” Ichigo snarled.

 

“Your soul provides everything I need, why would I leave when I have what I want?”

 

Ichigo grit his teeth and opened his eyes to the dark, staring up into a void that seemed to go on forever. Shinigami knew the moment it left he would kill it. Even if Shinigami tried to take him down in the process, he’d find a way to snuff out its existence. 

 

He prodded with la sangre along the tears in Grimmjow’s soul, he tried to heal him again, but it was as if the damage he saw and felt wasn’t even real. He whispered, “Y-uln, Jaeger.” Nothing. 

 

“Y-uln, Jaeger.”

 

He called Alteza to breathe life back into his soul again, and again, and again, until Zangetsu squeezed his shoulder and murmured, “Enough.”

 

If Zangetsu wasn't there to stop him, he wasn’t sure he would have.. Alteza was severed from Grimmjow’s body in a way Ichigo wasn’t sure how to fix. 

 

Smothering the splintered pain in his chest, Ichigo demanded, “Why can I not undo the damage you’ve done?”

 

“Weak or strong, you are all children of the Gods; I am not one of you. Neither is my power.”

 

“Undo what you did to him,” Ichigo demanded.

 

“I am a creature that takes. I do not give.”

 

Ichigo didn't think Shinigami was lying. So far it had told him nothing but the truth, and if there was a way, it had no reason to keep it from him. Then again, it had never tried, it had no reason to do that either.

 

Ichigo pulled away from Zangetsu, curling around his arrancar in a desperate embrace. He held him tight against his chest, his claws digging too deeply into his shoulder. That pressing need to tear him apart hadn't faded. If anything it was worse. 

 

CONSUME.

 

It made him feel sick. 

 

His hollow leaned against his back, carefully avoiding the chasm in his chest. His weight was a reassurance, a reminder that against the backdrop of screams and howls in his mind, Zangetsu was real, he was there. He was always there. 

 

Tearing his claws away from Grimmjow's body was hard, almost impossible. Ichigo bent over him and pressed his forehead to his arrancar's, smoothing a thumb along the jagged lines of his estigma, up along the fur of his ear,. He died in his Segunda Etapa, he died with his heart as close to being whole as an arrancar could ever get, and he'd gotten to say goodbye. It was the only consolation he'd ever get.

 

He couldn’t stay there mourning forever, not when he still had some shred of hope he could be saved. 

 

He wrenched himself away, standing over his prone form and shivered. Everything about this was wrong, he couldn't even imagine he was asleep. He was too battered, too bloody, and the hollow he knew would never sleep on his back. 

 

So many shinigami had died for this. He didn't know their names, he couldn't even remember how many. Nameless, faceless casualties in the wake of an uncaring God. They were right to fear him,  _ hate him _ . Failing and falling into the carefully laid plan Aizen laid for him was one thing, but to turn his sword on his allies for his own desires?

 

“I'm a monster.”

 

“We never doubted that, King.”

 

He hadn't, had he? He ran from the title in desperation, but it clung to him like tar.

 

Ichigo raised his hands and drew on la sangre, pain spiking through his limbs. It felt so much like the first time he'd ever called on the God's, and he wasn't used to pain anymore, not physical pain. Power flooded his soul and Shinigami devoured all that came into contact with it. It was almost convenient, despite the pain. He could draw on more power than before and not risk overwhelming himself. As much as he loathed Shinigami, in that moment, it was useful.

 

He grit his teeth and pressed on, seeking the knowledge of his predecessors buried in his instincts and power. He knew what he wanted to do, he'd seen it, touched the power, but he wasn't relying on die Konigin, he wanted to do the same with Alteza. As a God that thrived on death, it was difficult to weave the threads that bolstered it rather than feeding off of it.

 

Sand swirled and moved with his will, sliding over Grimmjow, la sangre licking from the surface like fire. It bound his soul wherever it touched, pulling him under, pressing in around him like a tomb.

 

Adaliz had done this, she'd surfaced in his mind as he held Grimmjow's broken body. She'd sealed her lover too, unable to let him go, and he finally understood. He thought he had, and he really hadn't, not until the moment was staring him in the eyes. 

 

He'd used her lover against her...now he knew how it felt. He was sorry, even after all she'd done. He didn't think he'd be able to do it again, but along with those regrets came hope. 

 

Mictlan had lived, shadow or not. Ichigo had breathed life back into _ a corpse _ after years sealed away under a power that existed to devour him in turn. 

 

He had hope he could do it again.

 

Ichigo tightened his hands into fists, solidifying his desire into frozen darkness around Grimmjow's body. It cradled him in a cold and dark embrace, pressing in around him to hold the souls that made him what he was in place. 

 

Certain Alteza wouldn’t encroach on his arrancar, Ichigo let the power go, sinking to his knees on the surface of a still lake. He pressed his palm to the surface, smooth and cold, the soul he loved most in the worlds trapped within. 

 

He was selfish.

 

Grimmjow wanted to die, he'd made peace with it, but Ichigo couldn't let him go. He dug in his claws and held him tight and now look where he was. Dead and broken.

 

He had become everything he loathed, and he had nothing to show for it but heartache; he felt every bit the hollow he appeared to be; his chest ached with loss.

 

Grimmjow had filled all those spaces in his heart he hadn’t wanted to ever suffer again, but every crass word and bloody smile pulled him in so deep, to lose him now gutted him of everything.

 

The void yawned in his soul, held fast by the millions of eyes of the light, and the clawing hands of the dark. This new sensation sliding beneath his skin felt so real. Shinigami wasn’t wrapped around the core of his soul, it was in his body, thick in his veins and his bones. It disgusted him enough to scare him.

 

“Stop feeding off of me.”

 

“Habit,” Shinigami answered, but he didn't stop.

 

Ichigo turned his question over in his head, disgusted by how closely it fell to a plea. “If I feed you, you'll stop?”

 

“For a time.”

 

Gritting his teeth, Ichigo's thoughts were dragged back to the agony Grimmjow's soul suffered. If Shinigami kept feeding off him, he wouldn't have the power he needed. Ichigo asked, “Will feeding you kill me too?”

 

“Unlikely. The God's have a firm grip on your soul.”

 

“What kind of souls do you need?” Ichigo asked. 

 

“Old ones. Powerful ones. Many.”

 

“Will you eat a hollow?”

 

“I can feed off all.”

 

“Why did you target the shinigami?”

 

“Revenge.”

 

That stopped Ichigo short. He curled his lip. “How could something like you understand revenge?”

 

“You never asked where I come from.”

 

“Why should I care?” Ichigo asked.

 

“You wish to know how I understand human emotion. Where do you think I come from?” Ichigo couldn’t even guess. “The shinigami host.”

 

Ichigo frowned. “I never sensed you in him.”

 

“Our time together was fleeting. I was torn from his soul and he was left a shell.”

 

Stiffening, Ichigo began to understand. “Why are you telling me this?”

 

“I can't have you tempted to remove me.”

 

Which meant it was possible. “What are you?”

 

“You already know. I devour. Before I found a host, I was weak. I survived, but I did not  _ thrive _ . For that, I require a host. Together, we flourish.”

 

Ichigo didn’t like being talked down to like he was a child, but it was actually helping him understand. “Then why did my predecessor rip you out like a tumor?”

 

“He wished to become stronger. He could not do that with a dampener on his power.”

 

Ichigo could feel what he meant. His reiatsu wasn't the only thing protecting him until now. Shinigami might be eating the Gods in his soul, but it was also acting like a barrier. The fire no longer spread, the slow and inevitable encroachment in his soul had stopped. If Reizei had wanted to barter away his soul, he wouldn't have been able to. 

 

“He sacrificed his conduits to seal you away. Which means I can do the same. Why not let me live in ignorance?” Ichigo felt the itch of manipulation. He might not always be able to wiggle out of it, but he could see it when it happened.

 

Shinigami answered, “Because you won't. You need me.”

 

Ichigo wanted to deny it, but he couldn't. A fear hung in his mind like fog, and the concern that asking it might betray some advantage was overwhelmed by his desire to know. “You aren't controlling my body like you did with Grimmjow. Why?”

 

“I cannot. The Gods would kill you.”

 

“Is that true?” Ichigo asked.

 

“You aren't sure you believe anything I've told you, that isn't going to change now.”

 

It wasn't. Ichigo searched his soul and asked, “Can I use your power?”

 

“Do you wish to?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Then do not reject me.”

 

Ichigo grimaced, disgusted by the possibility of accepting Shinigami in any capacity. He asked, “Would I be able to undo this?”

 

“I have not tried.”

 

“Is it possible?”

 

“I have not tried.”

 

Ichigo screamed, his power rippling out across the sand to die out in endless dark. He didn’t know what to do, this wasn’t merely helplessness, it was frustration. A small mistake, a lapse in judgement, and Grimmjow was gone.

 

Stowing his pain, his hate, for this thing that took Grimmjow away was never going to happen. There were some things he couldn't do. He loved Grimmjow, to open his heart to this monster would tarnish his heart in ways he couldn't handle.

 

Grimmjow had died before, he’d failed him twice. The first time was sudden, it happened without his knowledge...but this wasn’t like the first time. This was his fault.

 

He hadn’t stumbled across his bloody, broken body, he’d held him in his arms. He hadn’t wanted to lose him, not again. If only he’d had this power then, Grimmjow would have lived. He’d have been  _ alive _ .

 

Ichigo stilled, his single shred of hope blossoming into a wildfire. His eyes widened. “I can go back.”

 

Zangetsu ventured, “King...you can’t know the effect that would have.”

 

A laugh slipped past clenched teeth and Ichigo hissed, “I don’t think I care.” Torn between trusting and feeding the monster that killed Grimmjow and keeping control, he easily chose the latter, no matter the consequences.

 

“King, think about this. You could fuck up your life. We agreed we wouldn’t fuck with time.”

 

Time was a fickle thing, he’d seen that firsthand, he knew how unpredictable it could be. Ichigo turned to face his hollow, brows creased in distress. “I’ve already made up my mind...I’m sorry.”

 

His hollow reached for him, but not to harm. His hand smoothed across his cheek, a far cry from the anger on his face. “Don’t apologize, I swore we would get him back.” His grip tightened to fist in his hair. “If you’ve made up your mind, then any decision you make has already happened, there’s no sense arguing.” Fingers clenched in his hair, Ichigo leaned into the wrenching pull on his hair as Zangetsu reeled him in close. “This will all mean something, King. It’s not for nothing.”

 

No, he had to make it worth something, or he was a killer without a cause. He killed people that had trusted him, people he respected and cared for. One life wasn’t worth so many, but to Ichigo it was almost everything. 

 

Zangetsu disappeared, drawn back into his soul, but he could still feel the tug on his hair, the brush of his hand on his cheek. He missed Grimmjow so much. Their time together was too brief. He couldn’t let him go.

 

He reached for the power at hand and found it lacking. Shinigami had devoured so much, it wasn't enough, not to jump so far back in time, even with a tether to his original soul in his original time. 

 

This would be risky, stupid, and come with a price to pay. 

 

Feeding Shinigami might give him power enough to control him, or it was telling the truth and the Gods would rather kill him than give up their previous host. 

 

Ichigo would take that risk, he needed more power. Feed Shinigami, stockpile power, find Grimmjow's body in a timeline ruled by Aizen. He swallowed and whispered, “Simple.” It was simple. 

 

What were a few more souls? 

 

\---xxx---

 

**Urahara Kisuke**

 

The defeat on Ishida’s face was enough to tell him what happened. The Quincy came back to nothing but questions from the Kurosaki’s, and so his answer was less than gentle. “You want to know what happened?! I failed!” Ishida ignored the girls and went straight for Isshin. “He systematically killed shinigami and fed them to that  _ thing _ . Stabbed them right through the heart, it wasn't even a challenge, it was a massacre.”

 

“You were supposed to stop him!” Karin yelled.

 

Ishida turned in her, gesturing wildly. “He's beyond reason, he's  _ insane _ ! You understand what that means? He’s crazy!” 

 

Isshin miraculously kept his tone level and asked, “What was he trying to do?”

 

“I don't know, but whatever was in the arrancar is in Ichigo,” Ishida said, “and whatever Ichigo was trying to do didn't work. That arrancar is dead.”

 

Kisuke closed his eyes and let out a long, slow sigh. Shit.

 

Ichigo quite literally held the power to destroy all of the realms in a single night. This did not bode well. From the look Isshin shot him, he was on the same page. His son was unstable on his best day, let alone his worst. 

 

“Where is he now?” Isshin asked.

 

Ishida threw up his hands. “I don’t know. Gone, wherever it is Kurosaki goes when he’s not fucking everything up.”

 

“Take that back!” Karin screamed. She launched herself at him, but Isshin got between them, holding her back with half hearted interest. 

 

Yuzu cried. “His name was Grimmjow.”

 

“I don't care,” Ishida snapped. 

 

"This only happened because he died protecting us," Karin shouted, "you can use his fucking name!"

 

Isshin raised his voice. “ _ Everyone _ bring it down a notch. We're going to stop shouting and discuss this calmly.”

 

Sheepish looks were exchanged and Kisuke said, “Uryuu-san I’m going to need you to tell me what happened in detail.”

 

When the Quincy spoke this time, it was calmer, more collected. “Why? Kurosaki is unstoppable. Whatever he does now is out of our control.”

 

“This is true, but an unknown entity is inhabiting his body, his behavior is likely going to change, and I would like to know about it.”

 

Ishida emphasized, “ _ Why _ ?”

 

“Kurosaki still feels, appealing to his empathy is possible, his decisions can be swayed.” His words didn't seem to convince anyone, but false hope was better than no hope at all. Kisuke looked to Isshin. “I can track Kurosaki, if what Ishida says is true, I believe he'll return to Karakura at some point. He never goes long without at least seeing his sisters. It should be you.”

 

“He won't stick around to talk to his old man,” Isshin argued.

 

“Your son has spoken to you before, and I think he will again,” Kisuke said.

 

As little as Isshin believed him, he trusted him, and he had the air of desperation any good parent holds when their child is in distress. 

 

"It's not like I'm going to refuse," Isshin said. "is it?"

 

\---xxx---

 

**Kuchiki Rukia**

**2 weeks later**

 

Kurosaki Ichigo was indirectly responsible for the deaths of 56 unseated officers. He was directly responsible for the deaths of 4 seated officers, 3 captains, and 5 convicts. 

 

Her captain's haori hung heavy on her shoulders, pulled by a gust of moisture thick air. Heavy clouds crawled in the sky, threatening rain, but never delivering on that promise. 

 

Her tears wouldn’t fall. They hadn’t fallen at her mentor’s funeral, and they hadn’t fallen since. 

 

“I’m sorry to ask you here again Kuchiki-taichou.” The shinigami standing before her looked uncertain, defeated. She tried not to let her attitude bleed through her posture; The last thing they needed was weakness in command. That in mind, she gave him a half hearted smile, but she thought it might have done more harm than good. “At ease, there’s no need to apologise.”

 

He dipped his head and grimaced in return, “As you say,” and she wondered if her own smile had been that bad.

 

She crouched by the body and rolled them to their back. Blood stained their shitagi black, blank eyes unfocused on the clouds. It wasn’t like being near any body she’d ever seen, it was like with Ukitake...it was like seeing a ghost. 

 

Forcing her discomfort aside, she leaned in, eyes tracing the surgically clean cut through bone and flesh below a thickened pool of blood. It was a single, clean stab to the heart. Rukia wasn’t squeamish, but she grimaced. “It’s him.” This wasn't a powerless soul getting lucky, this was a kill executed with precision and intent, and Ichigo had no reiatsu they could sense to trace. 

 

The shinigami shifted and asked, “How can you tell?” Her expression must have changed, because apologies tumbled from his lips, as if he'd tread over forbidden ground.

 

Rather than try to placate him, she talked over him until he listened. She pulled apart the shihakusho on the body and said, “No reiatsu, and the length of the stab wound. No shinigami has a shikai this size except Ichigo.” She amended, “No shinigami that's capable of concealing their presence to this degree.”

 

She took back her hand and straightened, asking the other, “Who was he?”

 

The shinigami's eyes widened, unprepared for the question. “Umm...we still aren't sure, but there's a high chance he's a deserter.”

 

Rukia thought that was highly probable after seeing Kurosaki's previous victims. Since Grimmjow's death, he'd been methodically killing shinigami accused of crimes. How he'd learned this information, nobody knew, but the results were clear to anyone that dared look. He was passing judgement in a way he swore he never would. She couldn't understand why, but she wished she did. 

 

Ichigo was a threat, but one they couldn't hope to fight or cage. He'd taken her mentor, her friend. He'd killed in cold blood, for love or for not. He was dangerous. 

 

The people he killed now weren't good people. He was passing judgement, but it was quick, clean. It seemed he was doing it out of necessity, but she had no idea why. As insane as he may have been, Mayuri was their best line of understanding what Ichigo was, and now he was dead. 

 

Ichigo had wanted to kill Mayuri, but the others...not so much.

 

Kyoraku called out to her as he crossed over to meet her. “Kuchiki-taichou!" She looked up, and he waited until he was beside her before he spoke again. "You don't have to attend to this, Hitsugaya-taichou would jump at the chance.”

 

She nodded stiffly, shifted, and found her voice. “I knew him best, it should be me.”

 

Kyoraku looked at her, nearly through her, and then to the shinigami awkwardly waiting to be dismissed. “Bring a team to collect the body.” The shinigami bowed and happily left, not eager to be a part of this conversation. Kyoraku watching him go, then looked back to her. “Kuchiki-san, punishing yourself isn't going to change things.”

 

“I know.” She tightened her hands into fists. “I want to do it.” She finally looked up at him, and saw that he looked profoundly sad. 

 

He wasn't standing there as the Soutaichou, he was standing there as Kyoraku Shunsui, he was letting her see that grief for a reason.

 

She bit her lip and looked away. “I miss him.” She felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder, and it was shockingly comforting. He squeezed gently and pulled away, his touch brief, but no less meaningful. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. ‘Miss’ was too weak of a word. 

 

She wanted to curse Ichigo as selfish. He wanted Grimmjow back, but what about the people  _ they _ cared for? She wanted to, but she felt the void in his soul. Grimmjow had been right; Ichigo was desperately lonely. When Grimmjow had been sharing that piece of his soul, it wasn’t so noticeable, but without him, that pain was so clear. She saw the looks on the other captain’s faces. They wanted to hate him, but it was hard when they could feel his pain. It made it difficult to get over their own.

 

She found she missed Grimmjow. It could have been it was Ichigo’s feelings, muddling her own, but she’d come to respect him, even like him, even if she didn’t understand him. 

 

Losing Seireitei was a blow, but it was nothing like this. They had trusted Ichigo, they’d known the risks, and this was a betrayal no one wanted to speak of.

 

“How’s your brother?”

 

Rukia flashed him a tight smile. “The same. He’s angry at Ichigo, his arm isn’t getting any better.” And Ichigo might have been the only person who could fix it, but his stupid pride wouldn’t allow him to ask for help, especially not from an outsider, even at her request.

 

Kyoraku made a thoughtful sound, and reached up to scratch the stubble on his chin. “I thought as much. How angry do you think he would be if I asked him to teach?”

 

Rukia grimaced. “I think he would be disappointed in himself.”

 

“When it comes to shunpo, he’s one of the best. It’s not retirement, and we lost a lot of good shinigami.” Kyoraku looked from the body, back to her. “I know he’s capable, but I see how much he relies on Abarai.”

 

Rukia had noticed too. She rarely saw Renji, and when she did, it was at meetings, or brief. Renji made a point to come see her, but she couldn’t bring herself to say what she wanted, and it frustrated them both. She sighed and said, “I think Niisan is in a lot of pain.”

 

Kyoraku nodded and said, “I don’t think either of them will be happy, but I’ll make it official.” Rukia looked back at him, but he was already looking skyward. 

 

The conversation fell to a lull, and her thoughts drifted back to Ichigo. She said, “He's making every effort to avoid us, how are we supposed to stop him?”

 

“I wish I had an answer,” Kyoraku said. “I know you can feel his guilt, he isn't proud of this.”

 

“So we can convince him to stop.”

 

“Perhaps.” 

 

“You don't sound convinced.”

 

Kyoraku sighed and looked to her, then past her to the team of shinigami on their way to them. “If Kurosaki doesn't want to be found, we'll never find him. I don't like to admit it, but we're at his mercy.” Kyoraku lowered his voice to keep the conversation private. “We can't appeal to his humanity if we can't speak with him.”

 

“We could try?”

 

Kyoraku glanced across to her, thoughtful. “You know him best. If you have an idea, I'd love to hear it.”

 

She frowned and looked back down at the body. “Still working on it.”

 

“In any other situation, this would be my top priority, but  I have divisions to manage, captains to replace, and fears to quell. Attracting Kurosaki’s attention is the last  thing I want.”

 

She chewed her lip,  aware of that, but still unwilling to give up on Ichigo. He dipped his head to her and said, “Don’t dig too deep, Kuchiki-san. Try to move on.” He left her standing there while the shinigami recovered the body, her heart aching and her thoughts muddled.

 

\---xxx---

 

She should have told someone her plan, but anyone she told would tell her it was too dangerous and either stop her, or tail her. So she stood in the shadow of moonlight alone, stalking her targets.

 

She knew Ichigo wanted criminals, so what better way to find him than tail criminals. His kills had slowed to about one a month, which meant she had to find and choose targets carefully. Then she had to follow them and do nothing, and that was the hardest part of all.

 

Weeks passed in vain, she saw people do terrible things, and she merely watched. It riled her up to be forced to do nothing, to become a bystander. But if she spooked Ichigo, she lost her chance.

 

Weeks of nothing, when something finally did happen, she almost didn't believe it. It was so fast. One moment the man was walking, and the next, a shadow blocked her view. The man collapsed, caught by a clawed hand around his throat. He was dropped just as quickly, discarded like trash. Ichigo turned, the moonlight reflecting off the dagger edge of a horn. The wind tugged long, wild hair across his face, eyes glinting like a wildcat.

 

The chasm in his chest was so obvious, breaking up his silhouette in a grotesque way. 

 

“Rukia.” His voice was quiet, but it carried, thick from misuse. He didn't run, and he didn't move, eerily still, so she broke from her hiding spot to cross over and stand before him.

 

As dark as it was, even among the hollow black of his sclera, he looked broken. She'd never seen Ichigo like this. She'd seen him desperate and haunted, but seeing the result of weeks of heartache wasn't something she was prepared for. He didn't look like a God. He looked sad.

 

She'd fantasized about this for weeks, it kept her up at night, but the only question that she could think to voice was simple. “Why are you doing this?”

 

His brows creased, and he answered, quietly, his words gentle, as if spoken too loudly they might disturb the shattered pieces of his heart. “For him.”

 

For all his faults, and all he’d done, seeing his relentless drive to fix this was heartbreaking. “Ichigo...he's dead.”

 

His breath fled his lungs in a heavy exhale, sadness rippling through his frame like a physical blow. It occurred to her that this was likely the first time he'd heard those words from another person. He swallowed, blinking back tears, and it was the most motion she'd seen from him since he'd shown himself.

 

Afraid he might run, she desperately tried to change the subject. “What does killing these people do?”

 

He looked down at the body beside him. “It's complicated.”

 

“Try me!”

 

He looked back at her with a severity that didn’t look like Ichigo. She was staring into the wide eyes of something else; something powerful hid behind those eyes, something that twisted Ichigo’s emotions into gruesome shapes. He raised a clawed finger to his lips. “Shhhh...I hear you.” He was still whispering, and whether by the chill of night or by his presence, it was silent.

 

His sleeve slipped down his forearm, and she noticed there was no pale stripe of skin,  his arm was black. She asked, “What's wrong with you?”

 

He chuckled, an unhappy, stressed sound as he studied his hand. “Its self inflicted.”

 

She watched him, throat tight, and said, “I want to despise you.”

 

He dropped his hand, sharp yellow eyes flicking back up to meet hers. “It's okay if you do,” he said.

 

“Ichigo,  _ please _ .”

 

His eyes narrowed and he finally answered her. “Shinigami is feeding off of my soul, but I don't want it to. The only alternative is to feed it. I need more power but it keeps  _ eating _ it.” He finished speaking with a snarl, pouring more hatred into his words than he'd ever heard from him before.

 

“Shinigami...the thing that killed Grimmjow?”

 

He made a hysterical sound that wasn't quite a laugh. “Yes...yes it's in here too. It has a lot to say.” His voice fell,  suddenly weary. “They all have a lot to say.”

 

Rukia took a step back, wary. This was a glimmer of madness, and one she didn't think she could reason with. Grimmjow had been able to stay those thoughts, but Ichigo didn't trust her. 

 

Ichigo noticed her caution, hyper-fixated on it as a predator should be. “Shinigami helps, as much as I hate that thing.” His eyes widened, pupils blown wide. “I need Alteza.” He hissed, “I can fix this.”

 

Rukia tried to puzzle what he meant, brows furrowed in concern. He sounded desperate, which meant he had a goal, but no end in sight. The methodical and resigned way he’d killed the man at his feet spoke far more to what was going on than anything Ichigo might tell her. “How many more people have to die before you do?”

 

Face twisting, Ichigo was suddenly inches away, snarling, “As many as it takes.”

 

She stumbled back, startled, heart pounding, and Ichigo flinched back as if her reaction was a shock. She felt the shame poison his heart just as clearly as she saw it sweep over his face. He’d scared her, there was no pretending otherwise. 

 

She straightened, trying to reassure herself with the knowledge that if Ichigo chose to kill her, she was powerless to stop it. “How are you choosing these people?”

 

Ichigo grimaced, baring his teeth in a sneer. “Shinigami can feel evil,  _ smell _ it. It hunts, I kill, it eats.” His eyes were darting from the trees to the camp in the distance, she could sense his unease, and she was determined to get her answers before he fled. 

 

“You have to kill them?”

 

“I  _ want _ to. It's my choice, it should be me.” His words fell into a growl, shoulders hunched, and Rukia couldn't keep a grip on the hate she wanted to feel. Anger was so much easier to feel, this ached. 

 

She took a small step closer and begged, “Please let him go. It isn’t too late to stop.”

 

Sudden panic flashed across his face, and his expression caved, the pain he’d held at bay washing over him so hard he couldn’t hide it. “It is,” he whispered. He sucked in a breath to speak, lost his nerve, and swallowed. “When I killed him...Ukitake told me he was sorry. He said...he said, ’I’m sorry we failed you.’”

 

She stiffened in shock. No one had told her that, if they’d heard at all. It dug into her heart and ached.

 

“He didn’t deserve that.”

 

She shouted, “Then why did you do it?!” Her tears finally fell, blurring her vision, hot and messy with weeks of pain.

 

The look in Ichigo’s eyes was telling. He wanted to comfort her, but he’d been the one to hurt her, and the shame was reflected in her soul in dark shadows. “I’ve done so many things I didn’t want to do. What’s one more?”

 

“What sort of answer is that?!”

 

Ichigo grit his teeth, and despite the threatening silhouette he cast, Rukia pitied him. “It’s my answer,” he hissed. “My soul isn’t mine, the Gods fight over it like savage dogs. My body _isn’t mine_ , my sanity i _sn’t mine,_ _my life isn’t mine_!” 

 

He rambled faster, edging closer as his words grew clipped and panicked. “I can feel Shinigami in my skin, coiled in my brain like hands on my throat.” He was close now, close enough that if he tried, he could touch her. “I’m a weapon, a tool, I can live with that, I have to, they won’t let me die. They won’t let me.”

 

Rukia sniffed, afraid to wipe away her tears out of fear of taking her eyes off of him. He was panicked and erratic, and she was scared.

 

She saw the shine of tears in his eyes, but they didn’t fall. “I can’t do this alone.” His voice cracked. “I can’t, Rukia, I can’t.”

 

“You have your family, Ichigo.”

 

His brows creased, and he shook his head, his shame filling his heart with poison. “No.”

 

After killing innocent people, she understood why he would hide from them. He was unraveling, and she just kept digging. “You’ve been alone all this time?”

 

The look he gave her was answer enough. She hissed, “Look at you. Even if you bring him back, Ichigo, what will you be?”

 

Pain flooded his expression,  but she saw determination in his eyes. He wasn’t going to stop, this conversation was nothing but acid. He turned away, eyes on the shinigami he killed, then on the woods surrounding them.

 

”Why did you let me find you?” She asked.

 

He looked up at her, yellow eyes glazed with tears. “You’ve been relentless.”

 

“So have your family. Why  _ me _ ?”

 

For a moment, she didn’t think he would answer. All his power, and he looked at her like she was a threat. He “I betrayed you. I needed to face you.”

 

“You betrayed all of the shinigami.”

 

Regret flashed across his face, but he buried it, killing it before it could take root. “I did, and I’d do it  again.”

 

“Ichigo!”

 

“I’m  sorry!” He shouted. “Who do you think was there when I couldn’t sleep, when my very thoughts were colored by souls I never met, I never knew, and people I despise. It was him, Rukia. I put my hand through his heart, I nearly killed him, and he stayed, he was always there, the stupid fuck.”

 

Rukia could have told him this was his fault, that his desire to keep Grimmjow close had killed him, but she couldn’t do it, she couldn’t hurt him when he was already so low. “Ichigo, he’s gone, let him be.”

 

“I can’t,” he cried, “I can’t. It’s selfish but I can’t let it go, I need him.”

 

“Even if it isn’t what’s  best for him?” She asked, “or anyone?”

 

He swayed back, eyes dark, and said, “Just because I accept it, and I know what to expect, doesn’t mean I like to see the people I love look at me like that.”

 

“Ichi-”

 

He ran, leaving her alone with the body of a stranger, and the knowledge that he was resolved to sacrifice everything.

 

\---xxx---

**Kurosaki Isshin**

 

The cell phone Kisuke left him sat cold and unused for weeks, then months, and Isshin came to understand he would have one chance. Just one.

 

He kept the phone with him all the time. In his hand, in his pocket, but it was always within reach, it was always at the back of his mind; he couldn’t pretend his son didn’t exist. 

 

Yuzu and Karin weren’t taking it well, and Isshin didn’t know what to say. They seemed fine, they acted almost the same, but Karin seemed to be taking wholeheartedly after her brother. She followed in his footsteps, training with Kisuke, killing hollows. He wasn’t sure what goals she held, but she carried on with the drive and purpose that proved she had one.

 

Visiting Masaki's grave was no different than it always was, except they were short a brother, and a son. It dampened the mood more than a little, and all three of them surreptitiously kept sneaking glances, hoping they might see Ichigo. 

 

He didn't show, but Isshin didn't give up hope, not even into the late hours of the night, when Yuzu and Karin had long since fallen asleep. He held into it right up until the cold phone in his pocket buzzed, stirring for the first time in months.

 

“Ichigo…” The girls were asleep, it was late, and Isshin couldn't help but feel that was intentional.

 

Skipping out of his body, Isshin poured on the speed, crossing town in mere minutes. He found Masaki's grave obscured, Ichigo's silhouette a looking shadow in the dark. 

 

“You didn't want to see me,” Isshin said. It was a given, but he wanted to hear his voice.

 

“No.” That single word was enough to betray how tired he sounded, despite how softly it was spoken.

 

“Why?”

 

“Lots of reasons,” Ichigo sighed. “Shame, fear, self loathing...pick one.” Isshin wasn't sure what to say to that, allowing the silence to grow. Ichigo shifted, as uneasy as Isshin with the chasm between them. He tilted his head in Isshin’s direction, the hard edge of a horn interrupting his silhouette. “Are you here to stop me?”

 

In the time that had passed, Isshin realized his mind had changed. “No, Ichigo.” 

 

“Do you know what I did?”

 

He did. He didn’t want to know, but he was no coward, he wouldn’t hide from the truth. Isshin said, “You're still my son.”

 

The abrupt change in Ichigo’s posture was subtle, but Isshin noticed. Those words cut him deep. Ichigo's shoulders fell and he turned, finally facing him. He looked different. He was expecting the hollow features, the dark hair and amber eyes, but not to such an extreme extent. The dark streaks on his skin were no longer so striking, it was what was left of his skin that stood out. His arms were pitch black to the bend of his arm, the stripes on his face were thicker, longer, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there were more of them.

 

Isshin couldn’t keep the pain from his voice. “What have you done to yourself?”

 

“What makes you think I did this?” Ichigo asked.

 

“You can barely face me.”

 

That forced Ichigo’s eyes away. Not down, he didn’t regret this, but he couldn’t face it either.

 

Isshin said, “I just need to know,  Ichigo. Can you take it?” He didn’t need to ask if it was worth it. If he’d had the chance to bring Masaki back, he would have done it in a heartbeat, regardless of the consequences. He and his son were too similar. The world could burn in matters of the heart. He might not understand his choices, but he understood the driving force behind them.

 

“Can I?” Ichigo trailed off, eyes flicking back to his mother’s grave. They both knew there was no soul here to guide him, no presence to comfort him. He was here for himself. “I have to, don’t I?”

 

That wasn’t what Isshin wanted to hear, and it twisted his stomach up into ugly knots. It was a nihilistic answer, and one he couldn't blame his son for. Things happened to him and he just dealt with it, he had no other alternative or recourse.

 

Isshin signed, pulling a cigarette from his jacket. He wouldn’t smoke in front of his girls, he just couldn’t do it, people could say what they liked about it. He snapped the lighter a few times before it caught, singing the end of the cigarette. Truthfully he hated the taste, but like Ichigo, he’d gone too far to stop now. 

 

He was grateful Ichigo didn’t run. He just stood there with him, so much like that time years before, probably many, many years, for Ichigo, when he first got his powers. He could have intervened, could have stopped Ichigo from falling so far he couldn’t climb back out, but who were they but the choices they made? He didn’t think he’d have done anything differently. 

 

“Son, you do what you have to.” He took another draw of the cigarette and blew out the smoke in a steady stream. He dropped his hand, crossing over to stand before him. Ichigo’s eyes settled on his, looking for all the world to  be lost. “You don’t wanna hear your old man tell you what to do, but don’t forget your family, don’t destroy yourself.”

 

Ichigo’s brows scrunched together and he struggled to hold his gaze. His whispered, “I’m trying.”

 

“I know, Ichigo.”

 

His son’s expression twisted,  the pain in his eyes hiding him in the gut. God, he missed Masaki, the pain never went away, he just learned to hide it. Ichigo had the look of a man hell-bent on his goal, maybe even to the point of madness.

 

Ichigo disappeared in a flurry of darkness, and Isshin finished his cigarette alone.

\---xxx---

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

Every moment spent waiting to accrue la sangre was agony. He spent his days surrounded by silence and death, and so he practiced, he trained, with nothing but memories and regrets to keep his mind occupied. He killed so many, he started to fear the balance of things, but the Gods seemed satisfied, and Shinigami assured him new souls were created, it simply took a very, very long time.

 

The only marker of time he held close to his heart was the anniversary of his mother’s death. The rest of his time passed in darkness and unrelenting solitude. His memories were full of gentle touches, snarled reassurances, and the savage nature of Grimmjow’s heart. He missed him so much.

 

He couldn’t be certain how many weeks passed before he deemed he was finally ready. He let Alteza’s power flow through him; cold, untamed and powerful. 

 

All he had were guesses and his past experiences. Everything he'd done or been backseat to in the past was blind luck or an accident, but this was intentional.

 

He knew  _ when _ he wanted to be, and he knew  _ where _ . He remembered that day so clearly, he'd run it over and over in his head for years. He had one chance to get this right.

 

He drew on Alteza and Sunyata together. All of the God's opposed the other, but die Konigin was so different, and so far from what he was used to, he didn't think he could manage it. So he called on the dark and the void and threw all his will and desire into what he wanted. 

 

If he ever wanted for anything, it was this. He couldn't change time, but he could steal a corpse. A corpse that wasn't hopelessly destroyed.

 

Power hummed in the air around him, clashing but strengthened with a unified goal. He knew what he wanted. 

 

Energy caved around him, twisting and pulling him inside out. He gasped and blinked, power siphoned away from him in one massive chunk, gone in an instant. It was disorienting to feel, but proof he'd succeeded. The desert he stared out across was no different from the one he'd left. Crystal sands spread out in rolling white waves, with nothing in sight. 

 

He felt everything. He felt Neliel,  _ his _ Neliel. He could sense his father, Rukia, Renji...but he wasn't here for them.

 

Another source of power grated against his own in a way that was familiar and expected. He felt compelled to destroy it, and he wasn't sure if it was Alteza's desired or his own hate. Aizen knew he was here, and he was coming to him. 

 

That was fine. He wasn’t a threat.

 

He stood and waited, basking in the familiar presence of his friend’s reiatsu. They were far away, but it was a guilty pleasure to feel their reiatsu brush up against his own. It felt voyeuristic and wrong, realizing he was no longer a part of this time, this reality. His past had no place for him, he shouldn’t be here.

 

It didn’t take long for Aizen to find him. Ichigo was both eager to face him, and irritated his solitude was interrupted. 

 

Shinigami mused, voice rattling around his mind. “His would be a delicious soul.”

 

'Not this one.’

 

He heard the crunch of sand beneath his boots before Aizen even spoke. “Who are you?” It was spoken as a demand, but Ichigo knew him well; there was trepidation in his tone. 

 

Ichigo turned to face him, less than a few yards away from the man that ruined his life. It made him feel perversely good to see Aizen fearful. He wanted to explore that feeling, but now wasn’t the time. “You don’t recognize me? I’m insulted.”

 

_ “Is this wise, Ichigo?”  _ Ossan warned.

 

_ 'I'm sure it isn't. I don't care.’ _

 

Aizen's eyes narrowed, as if certain he was being tricked, but he looked, really looked, and realization hit him hard enough to show on his face. “Kurosaki Ichigo.” He looked like he’d seen a ghost, and honestly, Ichigo felt the same way about Mictlan. It was a ghastly peek into his future, and what he could become, and he’d sprinted towards that reality, grasping onto a sliver of hope. Aizen didn’t have that hope, only fear for his own mortality.

 

Ichigo took a step closer, and was shocked to see Aizen take a step back. He really shouldn’t be; he was in a situation where he finally held all the power. It inspired him to talk. “It isn't what you expected, is it?” Aizen's eyes narrowed, Alteza's trademark rage bleeding through. “It changes you,” Ichigo said, “Not for the better.”

 

Aizen’s lips curled in a sneer, and it seemed to Ichigo he was disagreeing out of sheer denial, possibly even pride. 

 

Ichigo cocked his head. “You're an improper host for Alteza.” 

 

“ _ I _ control _ it, _ ” Aizen said.

 

“It's a God, Aizen, and you're it's puppet.” Ichigo hissed in disgust. “It's taking nearly  _ half _ of la sangre's power just to keep you alive. Can't feel pain can you? Can't sleep, can't eat. You're no God, Aizen, you're just a walking corpse.”

 

“You’re a host,” Aizen seemed to have come to this conclusion before he’d even set foot before him, but he was working through things. “Why are you here?”

 

“Not everything is about you,” Ichigo snapped. He eyed Aizen, thoughtful, and asked, “Why haven't you killed me yet?” It was a given he meant his younger self. His older self was leagues more powerful than Aizen, but all he did was toy with his weaker self.

 

“I have my reasons.”

 

“You really are a lonely bastard, aren't you. You figured out the Soul King doesn't fucking matter, and now you have no goal.”

 

From the rage on Aizen's face, that was a close guess 

 

Ichigo made a thoughtful sound, having given this a good deal of thought once he realized Aizen was a host. “I'll get stronger. One day I'll kill you.”

 

“ _ Ichigo _ ,” Ossan warned.  

 

“Why are you telling me this?”

 

“Because like me, like every host before you, it'll drive you mad, it'll wipe away who you were, and you'll only wish you could die.” Ichigo took a step closer, offering temptation where he knew desire bred. “I can do it, I can take your place.”

 

“You want me to raise my own killer?” Aizen cocked his head. “Why would I do that?”

 

Claws flexing, Ichigo moved, his hand circling Aizen’s throat. The shinigami froze, watching him, but he didn’t flinch. “I loathe you. I  _ despise _ everything about you...but...you started this. Finish it!” He tightened his grip around his throat, grinding his teeth in rage. His grip still allowed him to breathe, if he squeezed any tighter, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop from himself from killing his predecessor. 

The shinigami watched him, eyes narrowed, and spoke, the tendons in his throat sliding beneath his palm. It was a chore to focus on the words he spoke without indulging in the need to tear his throat out. “You say this God will change me.”

 

“It already has,” Ichigo growled. “You didn’t even recognize me.”

 

It seemed that had occurred to Aizen already, and he said nothing, even after Ichigo wrenched his hand away from his throat. Fine, to hell with him. Ichigo turned away from him and growled, “Do what you want.”

 

Aizen said, “I expected you to insist.”

 

“You don’t know me.”

 

There was a wistful edge in Aizen's tone. “Perhaps not.”

 

The silence dragged and Ichigo broke it, distracted while his attention was elsewhere on the horizon. “I think you already made up your mind, and I don’t think Alteza will let you kill a viable replacement.”

 

“You presume much.” Aizen hummed, and said, “You want me to groom your younger self?”

 

Ichigo repeated himself. “Do what you want.”

 

“If that means killing you?”

 

Ichigo growled the words in a rush. “This game is pointless; Do what you want. I'm still alive, aren't I? You won't kill me.”

 

Aizen chuckled, a sound the set his nerves alight. “I suppose you’re right.” His tone shifted into something more calculating. “This is a strange feeling. If this is what you turn out to be, I’d like to say I’m proud.”

 

That single word was enough to flip Ichigo’s stomach. He hadn’t come here from approval from the man he hated as much as Shinigami. He looked back, hands clenched into fists. He could fantasize all he wanted about tearing him apart, limb by limb, the squelch of blood around his claws and the metallic stink of hot blood and guts.

 

A smile stretched across Aizen’s face. “That’s a good look, Ichigo.”

 

Now he was just pushing his luck. He knew Ichigo couldn't kill him, and as powerful as Ichigo knew he was, he couldn't make Aizen shut the fuck up.

 

“I'm glad you're happy,” Ichigo drawled. “I have somewhere to be. Don't follow me.”

 

“Is that an order?” Aizen drawled, amused. “This isn't your time anymore.”

 

Shinigami finally had commentary. “You should kill him.”

 

Ichigo wished he could, the desire pulled his lips back from his teeth in a wolfish smile. He drew on la sangre instead; all of it, and it rose from the desert like low lying fog. He tugged on la sangre inside Aizen’s very soul and he got the reaction he wanted. The shinigami was startled. 

 

“Alteza is mine,” Ichigo rumbled. He forced Aizen to his knees with both La sangre and his reiatsu, satisfaction spiking behind his eyes. The shinigami was more than startled, he was afraid. Ichigo liked that look too much. It clawed up his throat, a vicious lashing of approval. Ichigo stood before him and leaned forward, squeezing his shoulder. He reached into his chest and clenched the Hogyoku, el corazon de la Alteza, tight in his fist. 

 

Pain flashed across Aizen’s face, and Ichigo smiled. “Imposter.”

 

Ateza reached, wicking towards him like a dying star. He was stronger, he was  _ worthy _ , and Ateza saw him,  _ knew _ him. Ichigo knew Aizen could feel that. For all the shinigami's hopes and desires, he’d chosen the wrong side out of hatred and ambition. It wasn't his fault Reizei and Sunyata fell off the map. A pure shinigami could never be a proper host for Alteza.

 

“You've overestimated yourself, Aizen.” He withdrew his hand from the other host's shoulder and leaned back. His order was simple. “Stay.” 

 

Ichigo had found where he wanted to be minutes ago. He stepped through la sangre, hand raised to the back of the head of his younger self. “Inemuri.” His younger self crumpled like his strings were cut, and in the same instant, a zanpakuto was cutting a line for his neck. Ichigo caught the blade with ease, met his hollow's eyes and smiled fondly. “Zangetsu.”

 

The look on Zangetsu's face melted from murderous rage into wide eyed shock. Ichigo felt the tremble in his arm through the blade, never having felt so much confusion from his sword in his life. He couldn't blame his sword, time travel was a thing of fantasy, a thing their mind created in their dreams in the hope of hugging his sisters one last time. 

 

Zangetsu finally spoke, his shock shifting quickly into distress. Ichigo didn’t think he’d ever seen that look on his hollow’s face before. It was the first raw reaction he’d ever seen from his sword; It was a look that was coalescing into grief, and tempered by pain. His hollow was his pillar, he hid his fears and insecurities behind a wall thicker than even his own, but that wall didn’t exist here. Zangetsu was his sword, but he wasn’t.

 

The second that blade made contact, Zangetsu had known who he was, but there was no obligation from his sword to hide how he felt. He was still apart of him, but not this older version of himself. “You're dead,” Zangetsu lamented, “We failed.”

 

Ichigo's expression softened. “We failed a lot.”

 

“What happened?”

 

Ichigo uncurled his fingers from the blade, cutting their connection short, and Zangetsu slowly lowered the cleaver to rest tip down in the sand. Ichigo said, “You can't know.”

 

“King...your soul is in pieces.” His hollow’s tone wavered, struggling to give voice to his concern.

 

Ichigo’s Zangetsu materialized between them, looking so similar, and so different from his past self. In the past, his hair was shorter; he looked younger, leaner, less mean, less mad. “You can’t be allowed to remember us,” his Zangetsu said.

 

The Zangetsu of the past didn't question them, Ichigo knew hearing it from them personally would solidify that, but the stricken look on his face hadn’t faded. He knew in that brief touch, Zangetsu felt all his pain, his heartache, and his helplessness. He asked, “What do you want with yourself?”

 

“I’m not here for me,” Ichigo said. He finally looked down, forcing himself to look at Grimmjow for the first time. He remembered this.  _ He remembered. _ His breath fell from his lungs, tightly controlled, raking his eyes over dark, sticky blood drying in rivers between scarred and hardened muscle. The edge of a six was visible under streamers of blood, stark against pale skin. The back of his jacket was soaked with blood, the blade of pantera still wedged between bone and gristle like a pinned butterfly. Just a body, left to be devoured in the dark. “I'm here for  _ him _ ,” he whispered.

 

Stepping around his unconscious body, he bent and grasped the handle of Pantera. He felt nothing, no hum of Grimmjow’s soul, nothing but fading reiatsu; Grimmjow and Aizen’s mixed into a disgusting combination. He yanked the sword free, dropping it in the sand with little care. It was no longer a part of Grimmjow, it was just a memory.

 

He bent and rolled Grimmjow to his back, flinching at dull, unseeing blue eyes. He didn’t try to close them, he’d been dead too long, so he forced himself to look elsewhere. He slipped his hands beneath shoulders and knees and lifted Grimmjow up in his arms, Sand had clotted in cold blood, wet and abrasive on his palms. It wasn’t pleasant, but he locked the horror from his mind and focused on his task. 

 

He held him close, factually aware that the cluster of souls that made Grimmjow,  _ Grimmjow _ , were gone, but he still knew the weight of him and the curves and angles of his shoulders and legs. This was still Grimmjow. 

Ichigo closed his eyes and reached out with la sangre, questing for the damage done. He felt the rips and tears in his spirit form, the gap in his heart that should be whole, the splinters in a broken spine. He sighed, relief flooding over his skin in a wave; He could fix this. 

 

Zangetsu reached down for him and squeezed his shoulder, both out of silent support and as a reminder. Ichigo stood, Grimmjow cradled in his arms like a bride. That was a dark thought, and one he preferred not to linger on. He could almost forget Grimmjow was dead, but he was too still, too limp, and the familiar comfort of his soul was gone. 

 

Turning to the younger hollow, Ichigo have him a look of apology. “You have to forget.”

 

The younger hollow's eyes narrowed, anger taking the place of grief. “You're just going to let this happen to you? You could stop it.”

 

“I could,” Ichigo said, “but I need to get strong, I won't survive if I don't. No one will.”

 

Zangetsu took a step towards his younger self and lifted a hand to his face. “Time to forget.” The other wasn't thrilled about that, but he didn't lift a finger to try to stop them. “Keep him safe.” The younger hollow wasn't given a window to respond, he collapsed under the Kidou Zangetsu directed at him, dematerializing the moment his knees struck the ground.

 

Turning back to him, Zangetsu admitted, “It feels wrong to do this.”

 

Ichigo couldn't say he disagreed. It felt like he was breaking the rules, like some twist of fate would stop him now that he was so close. He cast the desert a paranoid look and said, “Let’s go.”

 

As much as he enjoyed sensing the reiatsu of the people he’d loved and lost, this place wasn’t for him anymore, it was a memory, one he shouldn’t even be stealing from in the first place. 

 

He knew there would be a cost, but he had yet to figure out what it was. He’d recklessly decided it was worth the risk.    
  
Zangetsu returned to the confines of his soul and Ichigo squeezed Grimmjow tight. Inoue had sent them through time on accident, he could do this, it was possible. He had no soul to touch and sense and keep close, so he held Grimmjow’s body tight, far too tightly. His claws sank through flesh and sinew, bone resisted the squeeze of his arms, and blood oozed sluggishly around his claws. He focused on the conflicted desires that sprang from his heart and Alteza.

 

**DEVOUR**

 

NO.

 

It was a feeling that made his guts crawl, so he focused on it and where he wanted to be with all his heart. He wanted to go home, to go to the place where he could feel Grimmjow’s soul; fierce and hungry. A place quiet and dark and safe.

 

Alteza pulled on his instincts and need and his soul snapped tight. 

 

The sudden drain on Alteza and his reiatsu made him gasp, falling to his knees onto coarse sand. The void where Alteza had been was immense. He’d brought a foreign body into a timeline where it didn’t belong, along with his own soul. The rebound was painful, clawing up his insides like acid. Ichigo set Grimmjow down with more delicacy than was necessary for the dead, then turned and threw up.

 

This wasn’t new, he'd overused Alteza before, but it also wasn’t good. Alteza licked through his veins, feeding off of what was left of his reiatsu. Ichigo coughed and growled, “ _ Shinigami _ .”

 

It responded, skeletal hands dragging over exposed nerves and bones, the pain drawing a cry from Ichigo. God it hurt, but it was worth it. He snarled, “Don’t take it all. I need it.”

 

“It’s freeessshhh,” Shinigami purred.   
  


“Fuck off,” Ichigo gasped. He caught himself on a shaking arm, fingers sinking into sand like broken glass. He swore. “I’ll feed you.  _ Keep Alteza back _ , that’s all I want.”

 

Saved the pain of Alteza eating his own soul, Ichigo turned his attention on Grimm. He was whole, if not alive, and outside of time, outside of place, he would remain that way. 

 

Ichigo coughed up more blood and bile and darkness, collapsing on the sand. “ _ Shinigami _ .”

 

“This is pervasive work. I need time and energy.”

 

Ichigo cast Grimmjow a longing look, muscles trembling in pain. He needed to fix him. He needed power  _ now _ . Now…there was no telling how long his body was viable after his soul was gone.

 

He coughed, the sound wet and thick in his chest. “Kisuke,” he growled. “Kisuke can help.”

 

He refused to let die konigin or Sunyata take over, he needed Alteza to temper an arrancar soul, only Alteza. His grip on both were unsteady when he had tipped the scale so far, so he pulled on la sangre, the motion so familiar he barely had to think to use it.    
  
The dark licked over his skin and dropped him in the middle of Kisuke’s house. Tessai was present, but no one else. Ichigo dragged himself off the floor and snarled, “ _ Kisuke _ .” The man hesitated, then was gone, disappearing out of sight. Ichigo collapsed, coughing a puddle of brackish tar that disappeared the moment it left his body. Disgusting, but Shinigami had to work carefully, or he’d have worse than weakness and a rough cough. 

 

Ichigo caught someone’s wrist an inch before they touched him. He rolled back on the ground, blinking blearily up at them. He’d know that stupid stripey hat and sluggishly sharp reiatsu anywhere. Kisuke. “I need you to fix this.”

 

The ex-captain stared down at him, eyes shadowed and guarded. “If I refuse?” Kisuke asked.

 

Ichigo glared up at him, his claws digging trenches into the floor in bloody streaks, but his grip on Kisuke’s wrist was merely firm. “Then I’ll make you.”

 

Kisuke’s expression hadn’t changed, watching Ichigo gasping for breath on his floor, but he crouched, tugging his hand from Ichigo’s grip with little effort. “You must be truly desperate.”

 

“I need your bankai,” Ichigo growled. He coughed, curling into himself, but Kisuke dropped to a knee and fearlessly caught his chin in hand, keeping his head raised. The shinigami got a good look, assessing. “You killed shinigami.”

 

“I did,” Ichigo rasped. “I’d do it again.”

 

Kisuke studied him a moment, eyes narrowed, then let him go. Ichigo pressed his forehead to the floor, hacking up more darkness and blood.

 

“You’re unbalanced,” Kisuke noted.

 

Zangetsu materialized above him in a defensive crouch and spat. “No shit.”

 

“But you’ll be fine,” Kisuke finished. “You don’t need my help.”

 

“ _ Time _ ,” Ichigo blurted. “I don’t have time.” He shuddered, pain rippling up his spine, and shot Kisuke a look flooded with naked desperation. “ _ Please _ .”

 

A look of genuine shock crossed over Kisuke's face. He'd come to him before, but he'd never begged. From the discomfort Ichigo saw in the other, Kisuke didn't like being on the receiving end of such desperation. He deflected, “You look terrible, Kurosaki-san.”

 

Ichigo chuckled and rolled to his back. “Feels worse.”

 

Shinigami cooed, “This one smells delicious.”

 

“No!” Ichigo snarled. “No, not this one.”

 

Kisuke took a small step back, unsettled hearing half a conversation, but that didn't stop him from prying. “What do you need my bankai for?”

 

“I need to be able to move,” Ichigo said. His words were cut off with a spike of pain, arching off the floor. “And concentrate.”

 

Kisuke tightened his grip on the cane in his hand, thoughtful. “Mobility and pain...against a God? It's possible. But it might not last.”

 

Ichigo coughed through a sob. “I don't know what else to do.”

 

Yoruichi stepped out from around him, stark naked and scowling. “Are you really going to make him beg?” she stepped around him and crouched beside him. Ichigo grimaced and looked away. “I really didn't want to look straight up your-”

 

“Kurosaki-san,” Kisuke interrupted loudly. “Please never finish that sentence.”

 

“That's right, you're into dick now,” Yoruichi said lightly. “Shame.”

 

“Really?” Ichigo asked, incredulous. “Now?”

 

Giving his hollow a cautious look, Yoruichi offered him a hand. “Yes, now. I’m not gonna let you cry and beg on the floor, Ichigo.”

 

Shuddering under another wave of pain, Ichigo gave her hand a skeptical once over, than took it, wicked black claws looking decidedly deadly around such delicate hands. “I’m sorry I couldn’t-”

 

“ _ Ichigo _ .” Her tone was hard, but amber eyes were gentle. She couldn’t forgive him for Soi Fon, because she saw nothing to forgive. He understood wanting to leave the past in the past, and he understood the pain of loss far too well, so he swallowed his words. She hauled him to his feet with more strength than such a small woman should have and said, “You’ve been trying to bring him back.”

 

Ichigo caught himself on Zangetsu’s shoulder, chest heaving, and panted, “Yes.”

 

“I have no doubt you will.” She glanced back at Kisuke and snapped, “God save you, help the boy.”

 

Kisuke sucked in a breath in a hiss. “I wanted to know his intentions.”

 

“Don’t be deliberately dense,” Yoruichi shouted. “Fix him.”

 

“It isn’t certain that I can.”

 

“Try,” she pressured.

 

Ichigo swayed into Zangetsu, tightening his grip on his shoulder and said, “You don't want to help.” Kisuke had helped him before on problems with shady morality, and this was the first time the scientist was uncertain.

 

Kisuke looked at him, debating his answer, and said, “I know what you’ve set into motion, and I can’t say I approve. There’s no telling what damage you’ve caused.”

 

It wasn’t surprising to Ichigo that Kisuke had figured it out. He’d given him plenty of time to chew on this particular problem, and he knew more than most. Ichigo whispered, “I need him.”

 

“You carried on without your sisters,”  Kisuke said. “Why is this so different?”

 

Ichigo’s brows creased, Kisuke’s outline blurry in his vision. He doubled over to throw up. It didn’t really make a sound, dissolving into reishi the instant it touched the floor, devoured by die Konigin. He felt like shit, but it took a backseat to this. Zangetsu at least had the foresight to pull his hair back and hold him on his feet. He said, “I don’t know what to tell you.”

 

“The truth, Ichigo.”

 

Tears pulled at his eyes, feeling increasingly vulnerable the more he pulled his walls down. Zangetsu was there, his hand was wrapped around his waist, he was leaning against his side, the hilt of a sword jutting into his ribs. He was safe. This was safe. “I can’t stop now...not after everything I’ve done.”

 

Kisuke watched him for long enough that Zangetsu felt the need to intervene. “If you don’t help him, shinigami, he might beg, but I will do far worse.”

 

Kisuke stiffened, “Not against your wielder's orders.”

 

“Kisuke-” Yoruichi started, concern in her eyes.

 

“I act in his best interest.” Zangetsu said bluntly. “If you’re between me and his best interest…” he shrugged. “I’ll do what I have to.”

 

“Stop,” Ichigo growled. “Please Kisuke, I’m running out of time.”

 

Kisuke frowned down at Benihime, twisting the cane in both hands. Moments passed with nothing but the laboured sound of Ichigo’s own breath, long enough for Ichigo wrack his brain for other options. Finally Kisuke’s eyes flicked back over to meet his own, and Ichigo’s breath caught. “I’ll help you.”

 

Sagging against Zangetsu, Ichigo coughed through a li gful of reishi, but managed to say, “Thank you.”

 

“Don’t thank me before anything has happened. I might not be able to help you.”

 

That didn’t matter much to Ichigo, he said it again, softer.

 

Yoruichi merely watched, silent and catlike as Kisuke led him to the basement. It wasn’t comfortable silence, Ichigo sensed Kisuke had more than a mouthful to say to him, but for some reason he held his tongue. Yoruichi perched on the ladder near the roof of the training area to watch, and Zangetsu practically carried him the whole way via sonido. He set him down and hovered, nervous, despite the fact they both knew he couldn’t die.

 

Ichigo sank to his knees beside his hollow, abandoning his pride for the moment. His reiatsu was simmering and low, he could only hope Kisuke could overwhelm him, or this was all a waste of time.

 

Kisuke drew his sword, tossing the sheath aside in the dust. He raised the blade and said, “Kannonbiraki Benihime Aratame.”

 

Ichigo had only seen it once before, and it was no less hauntingly beautiful this time around. The woman hunched behind Kisuke was too deliberately perfect, that perfection interrupted by joints segmented like a doll. Benihime reached for him with slender fingers, the spirits hand gently brushing his collarbone. 

 

One touch was all it took for his skin to split along his limbs from throat to fingertips, along his spine and his chest. He grit his teeth, holding la sangre back even as blood sheeted over his skin. 

 

It took a massive heave of effort to keep the God's from stopping the sudden invasion of Kisuke's reiatsu. After what he dealt with from the Gods, it really was nothing to suffer and bear it. 

 

Benihime's fingers twitched, and thin lines of reishi sewed him back together, sealing the surgically fine split in flesh. 

 

It was so fast, it barely hurt at all, but the reiatsu that had soaked into his skin felt delicate. To any normal shinigami, it might be irreversible, but he wasn't normal. Using la sangre in any huge capacity would unravel all Kisuke had done, but it had bought him the time he needed. 

 

Pushing himself upright, Ichigo got his feet under him and stood. “Thank you.”

 

“I hope this wasn't for nothing, Kurosaki-san.”

 

Ichigo couldn't fathom what he would do if it was. This would work, he'd come too far. 

 

He couldn't hold Kisuke's eyes, so he looked away, glancing up at Yoruichi. She sat on a rung, one leg drawn up to her chest, her expression hardened. She didn't trust him, nobody did, not the way Grimmjow had. His trust had bordered on insanity and recklessness...and he needed that back.

 

La sangre dragged him back to the space outside their realms, and Zangetsu stayed materialized beside him, watching him cautiously. 

 

“I'm fine,” Ichigo assured him.

 

His hollow grunted, not buying it. Ichigo coughed up more of la sangre, that problem clearly not settled, but he didn’t feel the pain anymore, and he could move, and that was all that mattered. 

 

Ichigo spoke to Shinigami. “Don't do a thing, not a fucking thing.”

 

Shinigami chuckled in his thoughts. “Good luck, godling.”

 

Luck was a stupid concept. There was no luck, just failure and small victories.

 

His hollow crouched near Grimmjow's body, eyes glued to the scar on his chest. “Eerie, ain't it?”

 

Ichigo looked, he didn't want to, but he did. It wasn't the Grimmjow he'd come to know and love, his scars were all wrong; this was a living memory, something he'd forced into his past, locked up tight where it couldn't hurt him. Ichigo mumbled, “Like a nightmare.”

 

Falling to his knees beside Grimmjow's body, Ichigo closed his eyes. He could feel la sangre, resting dormant in Grimmjow's body, etching away at the vessel in the ever present need to return la sangre to it's malleable form. Ichigo lifted his hands, fingers curled into claws, and grasped every last drop in his body. Ichigo began to mend.

 

It was more difficult than he wanted it to be, he’d never tried to mend the dead before. La sangre didn’t want to cooperate; it fought him, over every vein, every hairline fracture. It was slow, careful work. If he went too fast or pushed too hard, he’d destroy Benihime's efforts. He was so careful.

 

Sweat beaded on his skin, dragging lines down his back like timid claws. It wasn’t painful, thanks to Kisuke, but it was exhausting. He didn’t know how much time passed, if time passed at all in that place, but when he finally stopped and he opened his eyes, his chest was heaving. 

 

His hollow leaned up against his back, hands smoothing over his forearms, over the ridges of stitching, to bully his way through clenched fingers to rest their palms together. “Good work, King.”

 

“I’m so close,” Ichigo panted.

 

“You are,” Zangetsu assured him. “Rest, I have you.”

 

Ichigo blinked, his vision failing him. Grimmjow’s chest was unmarred, not even blood staining his skin. He was whole. Complete. He let out a long, slow breath, sagging back against Zangetsu. “I’m so tired.”

 

“I know. Sleep, King,” Zangetsu whispered. 

 

\---xxx---

 

**Zangetsu**

 

His wielder trusted him. It was a given, but King pulled him into his heart and embraced him, he welcomed his instincts with greedy desire. Holding Ichigo in his arms wasn't what he wanted. King was a mess. He slept heavy and deep, he didn’t flinch or stir; it was unusual. 

 

Cradling King in his arms, he idly traced a claw over a horn, following the uneven dips and ridges. If it were up to him, King would never draw him again, he would be alive, he wouldn’t be split open and stitched together, blood still sticky on his skin. He wouldn’t be a slave to monsters and Gods. 

 

“Zangetsu.”

 

Tilting his head, Zangetsu glanced at Ossan’s boots, wrinkled his nose in a snarl, and looked away. “What?”

 

“You've changed.”

 

“Shut up.” The Quincy spirit wasn't wrong. He no longer acted to protect Ichigo's physical wellbeing. He was protecting his heart. That wasn't his purpose...no, that wasn't a Zanpakuto's purpose. But he wasn't just a Zanpakuto, he was as much a mutt as Ichigo. He was a hollow, he was a part of Ichigo since he was born. The same, but different. 

 

Ichigo's desires didn't exist separately from his own. He missed Koneko too. It was nerve-wracking to be inches away from either destruction or salvation. If Grimmjow stayed dead, if they failed, there was no telling what would happen to Ichigo. Even with this thread of hope, Ichigo couldn't do this on his own, his self imposed exile was leaving a mark. 

 

His wielder didn't see it, that, or he refused to acknowledge it. Zangetsu had no choice but to watch him fall apart. He saw how quickly Ichigo reverted back to what he knew, back to what kept him safe. He moved differently; sharper, faster, yet cautious. His trust in the world was gone again. All that work unraveled in a single moment. Every day that passed broke him a little more, chipping away at the things that made him human.

 

Grimmjow had been good for him, which was disastrous. Ichigo had relied on the arrancar too much. If this worked, if Ichigo could bring Grimmjow back...They wouldn’t let this happen again. It was a selfish desire, one of the few selfish wants Ichigo had ever allowed himself, and it was costing him everything.

 

Zangetsu brushed Ichigo’s hair back from his cheek, strands clinging to sweat damp skin. All the power in the world, and Ichigo was right back where he started, reeling from loss. Maybe he looked different, maybe the situation was twisted, but he’d been here before, this was disgustingly familiar.

 

‘This time things would be different.’ That’s what they always said. 

 

This time he wanted it to be true.

 

\---xxx---

 

**Kurosaki Ichigo**

 

He ruined Grimmjow. He went out of his way to do it.

 

It felt like a filthy thing to do without the arrancar’s consent, but the knowledge he was dead, that he was still only mortal, spurred him on. It was slow, painstaking work, and he had to suffer every second of it.

 

_ Stop playing God, Kurosaki.  _ He said it all the time.

 

And here he was, playing God.

 

Hands shaking, he clambered back onto Grimmjow’s waist, leaned down, and hovering over his lips. His breath warmed cool skin, like kissing a statue...It had been hours of this, but it was no easier with repetition. He pressed their lips together in a mockery of a kiss, his stomach twisting in distaste. 

 

It was this, or tearing him apart. He couldn't handle the alternative; He didn't fix him just so he could flay him. He wasn't squeamish, but he didn't think he could stomach doing it to Grimmjow. 

 

And so Ichigo forced la sangre into Grimmjow’s body a little at a time, changing him piece by piece.

 

Too much of la sangre at once could kill a hollow. With power so desperate to consume, it would eat them alive  That wouldn’t happen if it was a part of his very bones. Grimmjow would never survive such an invasive shift alive, he'd barely withstood becoming his conduit.

 

But he wasn’t alive just then.

 

A soul could only take so much abuse, but this was just a shadow of his soul, a vessel. 

 

Shinigami felt the need to compliment him. “Clever.”

 

Ichigo pulled his lips from Grimmjow's, darkness snaking between them, and hissed. “You broke him, you don't get to comment.”

 

“You creatures are so fragile.”

 

Shinigami wasn't wrong, which pissed him off. “Now he won't be weak.”

 

Shinigami laughed. “Breaking the neck to save the leg. Curious logic.”

 

“Shut up,” Ichigo snarled. Alteza made him testy on a good day, but the urge to tear throats with his bare teeth sat in his mind unchallenged and underfed. 

 

He kissed Grimmjow again, breathing la sangre into his bones, so careful not to break Kisuke's efforts. He kept  going, even when Grimmjow’s mask bled black, when dark black lines bled from his estigma like tears, tracing jagged, invisible lines across his cheeks, arms and chest. His hair  bled black from the roots, irreversibly different. 

 

There was no one to blame for this but himself. This would have been a chance to be free from him, and he was selfish. Selfish selfish selfish.

 

It was hours before he was satisfied he'd done enough. Grimmjow's very bones resonated with la sangre, it was as much a part of him as it was for Ichigo. He didn't like to dwell in regret, but he already regretted this.That didn't mean he was going to change his mind. 

 

Ichigo stood above Grimmjow, trying to make peace with this. He really was no different than Aizen. He was arguably so much worse.

 

Crouching above Grimmjow's temporary grave, Ichigo raised his hands, the sand sifting to part around Grimmjow's body. It fell away in dark streams, exactly as he'd left him. Hopelessly broken, used as a fleshy shield for a thing he despised.   

 

There was only one thing left.

  
  


\---xxx---

**Grimmjow**

 

He sucked in a cold lungful of air and his eyes shot open, chest heaving as if he'd woken from a nightmare. He remembered no nightmare, no dreams...where was he? It was dark and silent, sand scraped against his palms, cold and too sharp. 

 

He stared above him, trying in vain to blink back the darkness. Unease prickled the back of his neck, eyes following the undulating shape of something massive. Fear prickled in his mind, and he didn't want to look at it anymore. He turned his head to the side, and he didn't like what he saw there either.

 

It was someone that looked just like him. Same furred ears, same blue hair, estigma...it couldn't be. He reached out to touch, hand shaking, and froze. His hands were clawed and sharp, a jagged line of darkness snaking around his bicep and out of sight. Someone coughed. 

 

He spun, eyes wide, and his breath caught in his throat. Kurosaki.

 

The man looked different, but it was still Kurosaki; there was no mistaking those wicked horns. The amber eyes that locked on his own were steeped in guilt and fear.

 

Oh hell...He was dead. He'd  _ been dead _ . 

 

He remembered everything; every soul, all the pain, all of Kurosaki's regret. He swallowed, throat raw and dry, and croaked, “You look like shit.”

 

Kurosaki blinked, then burst out laughing, doubling over into a fit of coughing. He coughed up la sangre, he’d experienced that before, and knew how unpleasant it was, but wasn’t sure why it was happening. The black stripes snaking around his body had thickened, stripes of pale skin striking against a  black canvas. As tragic as it should be, it still painted a vivid, warlike picture. 

 

His skin shone somehow visible in pure darkness. It took Grimmjow a moment to understand he was seeing tears on his cheeks. Ichigo clenched his teeth, cutting those tears short, and pushed his hair back from his face with both hands, holding himself together. “You were dead a long time, Grimmjow.”

 

The demigod’s voice wavered, lacking the strength he remembered. That didn’t seem right. Kurosaki had lost people before, he should have moved on, he should have forgotten him. Grimmjow wet dry lips, or tried to, and asked, “How long?” Kurosaki just stared at him, the prick. “HOW LONG?!”

 

His answer came too quickly, too stiff. “Months...nearly a year, I think.”

 

Struggling to his feet, Grimmjow closed the small gap between them and let his legs buckle. His knees struck the sand hard and he reached for Kurosaki’s face, forcing his fingers beneath his palms, his hair scrunched and wild between their fingers. Now that he had a better look at him, he could see how worn down he looked, how raw and undone he’d become. “Have you been alone?” 

 

The demigod stiffened, a sharp exhale gusting from his chest, as if afraid to admit it. Grimmjow had mercy on him and  changed the subject, asking, “Why are you afraid of me?”

 

Kurosaki’s expression crumpled, struggling to hold his gaze, and he whispered, “There was a cost.”

 

Hands tightening on the sides of his face, Grimmjow demanded, “What cost, Kurosaki?”

 

No response, just more guilt. He hated that look on his face, it was unnecessary weakness. This wasn’t the man knew.

 

Grimmjow’s voice betrayed his panic. “Stop talking around the truth. Tell me.” Kurosaki's brows furrowed and he was silent. Rage stoked the growing fire in his chest and he screamed, “TELL ME!”

 

Kurosaki cringed back from his voice and said, “It’s a long story. Do you want to hear it?”

 

A tremble started in Grimmjow’s arms, the presence of the body at his back scratching at the back of his thoughts, hardly forgotten. He swallowed, letting Kurosaki go, and sat back on his heels. He ordered, “Talk. I need to know.”

 

Kurosaki was right. It was a long story. A story full of loneliness and pain. 

 

A lot had happened. Some of what Kurosaki told him devolved into rambling, but it was proof he wasn’t lying. He’d been through hell, he couldn’t imagine living his life with the thing that killed the person he loved rubbing shoulders with his soul. His feelings for the demigod hadn’t changed, they were just...more complicated. 

 

He listened to the whole thing in silence, betraying nothing, whereas Kurosaki wore his emotions on his sleeve. He was cracked. He constantly flinched, twitched, and scanned the desolate horizon for threats, or perhaps whispers and bodiless voices. He spoke to someone who wasn’t there, and stared at him like he wasn’t real.

 

It was pathetic, but made him aware of power he shouldn't feasibly have. He reduced a near God to  _ this _ . And he hadn't even tried.

 

He wished he had a better read on Kurosaki's emotions, but he was no longer a conduit. The sudden break of contact he knew should be there and wasn't, ached. 

 

It might have been a year, but not to him. To Grimmjow, only moments had passed. A few moments, and everything was different.

 

When it became clear Kurosaki wouldn't continue, Grimmjow gestured back at the body...his body, behind him. "What is this? Everything, Kurosaki."

 

The demigod was reluctant, but they both knew it couldn't stay secret forever. Instead of speaking, Kurosaki reached for his chest, fingers tracing smooth and uneven skin, the path he traced dimly familiar. 

 

Grimmjow looked down at his chest for the first time. He clamped his hand down over Kurosaki's before he could follow the scar lower. He was breathing too fast, he knew that, but he couldn't calm down. A jagged scar ripped through his entire torso, a scar whose story he'd heard before. "What did you do?" He whispered.

 

"I'm sorry, Grimmjow, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

 

"Stop apologizing! What did you do?!"

 

"I couldn't fix you...so I stole your body from my time. I stole something I could fix."

 

Grimmjow let go of his hand only to hold it out, brandishing it like an object. "And what is this?! You never said anything about this, what did you do?!" 

 

He barely got the words out before he was flattened to the sand, wrists pinned by his head. He wasn’t looking up into Ichigo’s eyes, but those of his hollow. He thought he’d materialized, but once his thoughts caught up to the situation, he realized he was in control of Ichigo’s body. “I wasn’t done,” Grimmjow snapped.

 

“Ichigo is,” Zangetsu said.

 

Grimmjow tensed, staring up into cold amber. He’d never heard him call his wielder Ichigo before.

 

The hollow slid his hands up his wrists, claws scoring his palms in needle sharp lines. "You sense his fear, don't you?"

 

"I'm not a conduit anymore."

 

"Exactly," Zangetsu purred. "But you see it in him, Ichigo isn’t hiding. Do you know why?”

 

Grimmjow felt unease slide up his spine in a shiver. “No.”

 

“You were free,” Zangetsu said. Grimmjow blinked up at him, uncomprehending, and Zangetsu repeated himself. “You were free from Alteza.”

 

His world narrowed to those simple words in dread. 

 

“You haven’t questioned why la sangre has infected this body? A body stolen from a time where you never had contact with it before "

 

Realization settled in Grimmjow's chest like a heavy stone, his voice lilting upwards in disbelief. "Ichigo did this?"

 

Zangetsu’s claws slid between his fingers, pressing their palms together. There was no joy in his eyes, but Grimmjow didn’t see regret there either. "He did."

 

Despite knowing the answer, it washed over him in a confusing storm of rage, betrayal, and confusion. “Why?”

 

“You were weak.”

 

That hit him in the chest every time he heard it, anger beginning to build in his throat like a scream, but Zangetsu wasn’t done. 

 

“Now you’re not.” Zangetsu let his palm slip away, leaning back to sit on his thighs. He tilted his head, the sharp point of horns angled towards his throat, and watched expectantly. 

 

The fucker wanted him to do hit him. Fine then. Grimmjow’s claws whipped across Ichigo’s cheek, splitting open his flesh like butter. His attack left bloody rivers through his cheek, jaw, and nose. Black bone was exposed under ribbons of blood, streaming from his jaw to splatter Grimmjow’s chest. It healed as he watched, split flesh knitting together, la sangre greedily absorbing any blood that was spilt. 

 

Eye’s wide, Grimmjow stared at the place the wound had been. For all his effort, he’d never been able to hurt Ichigo, not unless he was on the brink of death. Ichigo was suffering and in pain, but he was still strong, his reiatsu still prickled his senses like a monolith. 

 

His thoughts tripped over themselves, confused by that realization. He wasn’t a conduit, but he could sense Kurosaki’s reiatsu.

 

_ He could sense Kurosaki’s reiatsu. _

 

Confusion morphed into horror, looking at blackened, bloody claws, claws that didn’t feel like his, in a body that itched with scars he didn’t remember. “What did you do?” Grimmjow whispered.

 

\---xxx---

 

Y-uln: I call

Jaeger: Grimmjow’s human name I used in Zenith: Reap

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so nervous you all hate it o ~ o 
> 
> Even if I haven't answered you yet I read all your lovely comments! It's prolly dumb, but I use my time to write for you instead of answering sometimes, but it doesn't mean I don't love and appreciate all the time and attention you've given little me and my story ; A ; thank you!


	9. Dysphoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Vikishus for beta reading for me! Fixing those keyboard double spaces is hell ; A ;

\---xxx---

 

**Grimmjow**

 

_ “What did you do?” Grimmjow whispered. _

 

The hollow reached for his hand, strangely gentle, and wove their fingers together. Blood slipped between their skin as the hollow squeezed Grimmjow’s hand in his own. It might have been slow and soft, but there was a savage undercurrent, one that he and Kurosaki shared. “We made you like us.”

 

Grimmjow stared blankly up at him, and Zangetsu carried on, claws scoring the back of his hand in tiny lines. “Ichigo disregarded your desires for his own. He can’t watch you die again.”

 

Zangetsu reached up with his free hand to encircled his neck, flattening him against the sand with a sudden shove. Grimmjow grunted, staring up at the hollow with growing unease. “That doesn’t answer my question, hollow.”

 

“ _ Zangetsu _ ,” the hollow said. “I have a name, koneko.”

 

“I’ll use yours,” Grimmjow ground out, “When you use mine.”

 

The hollow laughed, a soft, quiet growl in his throat. So much like Kurosaki, but still different. He leaned in, his hair slipping from his shoulder to cascade onto the sand in a curtain. It was pitch black around them, but Grimmjow could see every detail as if it were twilight, and he had yet to ask why. The hollow spoke, chiding, “Koneko, he remade you to withstand la sangre, to carry it like a curse.”

 

Grimmjow swallowed, Zangetsu’s hand against his throat an ever present weight. “What does that  _ mean _ ?”

 

“You tried to use la sangre before,” Zangetsu said. “Do it again.”

 

The hollow wasn’t going to answer his question, he wanted Grimmjow to see for himself. Grimmjow was uncertain. He’d used it alright; it was painful and it ended with Shinigami making itself at home in his soul. He blinked, the memories hitting him in a flood. “ _ Shinigami _ . What happened to it?”

 

Zangetsu let out a hapless bark of laughter. “Where do you think, koneko?” The hollow bared his teeth, eyes narrowed. “It’s here with uuuuuussss. If it didn’t keep Ichigo from going-” he cackled, spinning his finger by his temple, ”IN~sane,” the hollow leaned closer, teeth suddenly bared in a snarl, over enunciating every word like a curse. ”I’d have skinned us alive to  **tear it from us** .” 

 

In the hollow’s very not-insane passion, his hand had tightened on his throat, cutting off his air. Grimmjow didn’t have to warn Zangetsu, the hollow noticed as quickly as he’d done it. His grip went lax, his hand sliding to the side, thumb tracing his jaw, suddenly gentle again. 

 

This behavior wasn’t unexpected, but it was even more unsettling to be facing Zangetsu rather than Kurosaki. Zangetsu was supposed to be the one that was more level-headed, or at least, predictable. 

 

The hollow seemed to notice his inhibitions, and so moved slower, more carefully. “Ichigo threw away almost everything for you.” His tone was carefully devoid of emotion, but his eyes betrayed more than Grimmjow expected. The hollow looked desperately sad. Grimmjow didn’t think he’d ever seen that look on Zangetsu before.

 

“I didn’t ask him to,” Grimmjow hissed.

 

“Of course not,” Zangetsu scoffed. “It’s his nature.” He petted his lower lip, tracing the curve, and said, “Use it.”

 

“What are you doing?” Grimmjow asked instead. It was a genuine question, even if he was deflecting. Zangetsu had never touched him like this before. In fact, he couldn't remember a time he'd ever touched him without threatening him. Maybe it had happened, but this was so starkly different than what he expected, nothing came to mind. 

 

“ _ You _ ,” Zangetsu drawled, “Are changing the subject. Are you afraid?” Grimmjow swallowed, gritting his teeth. Admitting it felt pathetic, but the very reminder of Shinigami was enough to set his heart pounding. 

 

Zangetsu didn’t reassure him that he shouldn’t be afraid, he held his face in his palm and said, “We won’t lose you again.”

 

That felt more like a threat. He should be dead, and against all odds he was flat on his back in a desert that shouldn't exist,  _ alive _ . Relatively speaking. 

 

His body felt off. Not wrong, not uncomfortable, but  _ off _ . Maybe he could blame it on being recently dead, but that didn't feel right. It was a sense of displacement. "Do you feel like this?" Grimmjow asked.

 

Zangetsu looked concerned, head tilting to the side. "Elaborate."

 

"I feel wrong."

 

"Wrong…” Zangetsu tapered off, “We haven't felt right since we got here, koneko, but I don't know what you feel." He hummed, the sound distinctly inhuman. "But I'm sure we're the cause."

 

“You proud of that?” Grimmjow snapped.

 

“No,” Zangetsu said, and corrected him. “Satisfied.”

 

The hollow spoke through a sigh, and Grimmjow had no reason to doubt it was true. Whatever they'd done had brought him back, but he was inextricably different. 

 

"Call it, koneko,” Zangetsu demanded. “ _ Use it _ ." Golden eyes rolled skyward, "Alteza protects its own,” then flicked back down to meet blue. “You've nothing to fear from the dark."

 

Grimmjow couldn’t remember the last time he’d frozen up, he’d done it before, but he was afraid. Stupid, stupid, stupid––this fear was pointless, just do something.

 

Lifting both hands to his face, Zangetsu traced the hard edge of his mask and whispered, “Use it.”

 

Shame and fear held his tongue, Grimmjow had nothing to say; no excuses, only silence. Lifting his hand to Zangetsu’s wrist, his breathing doubled, the ghost of pain slithering up his spine.

 

Irrational. Use it. He'd done it before, he could do it again.

 

Closing his eyes, Grimmjow felt for the dark, as he'd done with that medallion hundreds of times before. He felt the dark reach back, hungry, and he pushed it a step further. He'd done the same to save Kurosaki's family, he knew how, he just had to invite that death into his soul. Invite it someplace it did not belong.

 

It flowed to him at his call with relative ease, gathering around him like cold water. There was no pain, it didn’t devour him like before, it just existed, called by him.

 

Grimmjow opened his eyes to see the dark licking at the corners of his vision, and Zangetsu was smiling down at him, looking both pleased and proud. “Good job, Koneko.” His hands hadn't left his face, but the hollow let him turn his head to look at the lapping darkness. Zangetsu had been right, it felt safe, against all his previous experience and pain, it felt like it belonged with him, despite never having felt that way before.

 

“How?” Grimmjow asked. 

 

“You’re not our conduit anymore,” Zangetsu said. “Look at me.” Grimmjow tore his eyes from the dark weaving around his fingers and looked back up at him. The hollow’s expression fell. “Ichigo wanted to tell you…”

 

“Tell me what?”

 

“You’re not a conduit, Grimmjow, you’re our equal.” 

 

Grimmjow struggled to understand what that meant, desperate for a real answer. “Explain.”

 

“Ichigo didn’t just remake you with la sangre, he did so with the parts of himself that had already been consumed by the Gods. You don’t have a piece of his soul… you have half.”

 

“I… half? I don’t feel him, I don’t understand.”

 

“A conduit is slowly devoured, used up to keep the host alive. A host loses its mind, not its soul and physical form. A host’s soul is changed.” Zangetsu lifted his hand for his hair, pulling it through his fingers. “You can see some of that change.” The hollow said, “Your soul, your physical form was weak, so Ichigo spent hours, days, pulling himself apart to give to you. Alteza recognizes Ichigo’s soul as its host, and half of it is in you, so it will not harm you.”

 

Grimmjow heard what he was saying, but he was so focused on the things he no longer had. “Why can’t I feel him?”

 

“You can,” Zangetsu said. “You feel his reiatsu, but that connection you had as a conduit doesn’t exist. Ichigo isn’t sharing his soul, he’s torn it apart, he  _ gave _ it to you.” 

 

“Why didn’t he tell me this himself?” Grimmjow asked.

 

His expression fell again, and the hollow took his hands away, moving them to the sand on either side of his face. “Ichigo doesn’t expect you to thank him for this. He didn’t ask, and he didn’t care. You might be safe, but you’re as much Alteza’s servant as he is.”

 

Stiffening in understanding, Grimmjow came to grips with what he’d been told. No choice, he was forced to be a host, Ichigo forced this on him, even after all his fears, he did this to him. “What? He’s scared of me?”

 

Zangetsu grimaced at the accusation, but didn’t deny it.

 

Grimmjow hissed, his tone mocking. “What’s he so scared of, that I’m gonna be  _ pissed off  _ over all the shit he did?” He sat up, pushing Zangetsu back. The hollow let him, so Grimmjow shoved hard, throwing the hollow to his back. Hands fisted in his shihakusho, Grimmjow snarled, “You should have left me dead.”

 

The hollow’s eyes flashed with rage, but he stayed pinned against the sand. “ _ I  _ have one purpose, koneko, and if  fulfilling it means helping Ichigo steal your corpse I would have done it a thousand times over. Death is  _ easy _ ,” he  hissed, “ _ You _ didn’t have to listen to him wail over your corpse, or watch him try and fail to heal you. He went mad over you.”

 

Grimmjow liked to think if he was in Ichigo’s place, that he might move on, that he might not lose everything about himself he actually liked. The thought of suddenly being alone again wasn’t appealing, he didn’t want to think about it. “He should have moved on,” Grimmjow growled, “What about his family? I’m just a hollow.”

 

“Just a hollow,” Zangetsu sneered. Without any warning at all, the hollow’s hands were fisted in his hair, and his lips were crushed against his own. It was startling, and confusing. He felt like Ichigo. He wouldn’t never forget what it felt like to kiss him, but it wasn’t Ichigo, not really, it was Zangetsu. He was still reeling in confusion when the memories hit him. It was vastly uncomfortable, and oddly familiar, like a sudden wave of deja vu. He thought for a moment that they were Ichigo’s memories, but he realized they were Zangetsu’s.

 

Instead of fighting that kiss, Grimmjow returned it, eager for more of the flashes of memory Zangetsu shared with him. None of it was good, but he wanted to know. He saw Kurosaki alone in this wasteland, standing in silence, eyes locked on a silvery smooth surface. He saw him cry, scream, saw him kill, saw him panic in the dark, clawing at his skin in sudden, bloody madness. He let in no one but his hollow, Zangetsu watched it all.

 

The hollow pulled away, cutting off the stream of memories, but Grimmjow kept his eyes squeezed shut, memorizing every agonizing detail. Zangetsu whispered, “Ichigo can’t hear your answer, but  _ I _ need to know. Do you hate him? I don't think he could face you if you did.”

 

Grimmjow kept his thoughts on the past, picking apart moments he’d been shown with growing disquiet. “God, no, I don’t hate him. I’m…” He didn’t know. He pulled back and Zangetsu’s hands slipped from his hair without resistance, and the hollow laid back on the sand and watched him in silence. 

 

Growing restlessness pulled his thoughts in too many directions, and the dark and the silence suddenly felt too close, too oppressive. Grimmjow breathed. “I need to get out of here.”

 

“La sangre is yours. Go.” The hollow didn't speak as an order, it was mellow, maybe even sad. Zangetsu was going to let him go. His shock must have shown on his face, because Zangetsu heaved a deep sigh. "You're not our prisoner, Grimmjow. Go."

 

So he left. 

 

He pulled on la sangre, through him and around him, and knew where he wanted to be. It was a sudden drain on his energy, but he fell to his hands and knees on white sands, not black. This was familiar, this was expected. He was alone again. 

 

He let out a long, slow exhale, his breath drawn away by the wind. His arms shook, but he didn’t think it was the strain. Cool, quartz grains slipped over blackened claws, the dark lashing up his arms in angry streaks that carried on out of sight. He felt like he was looking at someone else, but it was  _ his _ hands that clenched in the sand, it was  _ his _ eyes that blurred with tears.

 

Kurosaki couldn’t face him, he couldn’t even look at him. And Grimmjow was… angry. Was he angry at Kurosaki? Shinigami? Everything? He wasn’t even sure he cared who he was angry with, he was just mad. 

 

Lifting a hand to Pantera’s hilt, rough fabric cut into calloused fingers, vibrating with the pestering desire to shred and destroy. He squeezed it tight, letting out a sigh of relief. His sword felt the same, it was the one part of his soul he could always rely on. “Fuck…”

 

Why did everything else feel different?

 

Drawing Pantera, Grimmjow drew his legs under him and stood. He felt like a fresh turned Espada again, but he didn’t feel the same elation. He’d been ecstatic at his leap in power, he’d clawed and scraped his way to sexta and been fucking proud of it. Why was it different?

 

Comparing Kurosaki to Aizen had him peeling his lips back from his teeth in disgust. They were nothing alike. Kurosaki hadn’t given him power out of manipulation and curiosity, and maybe that was why it felt like shit. He hadn’t felt he owed Aizen shit, he’d taken the power for what it was, expecting to be used. Yes, Kurosaki was different. He gave him power as absolute as a death sentence, fully expecting him to take it and never look back.

 

It didn’t feel good at all.

 

Leaving Kurosaki didn’t seem feasible, not after so long, but from the look on Zangetsu’s face, neither of them thought he’d come back. It didn’t feel like a year had passed, not to Grimmjow. It felt like hours ago he’d been dying, forced to face Kurosaki in his weakest moment. He shuddered, remembering the feeling of being gutted all too clearly. Shinigami had crushed him, he’d never longed for death in all his life, but he knew he was ruined, he wanted nothing more than to die.

 

Kurosaki had seen, he’d felt that. He wasn’t supposed to bring him back, he wasn’t supposed to have to face this shit. He screamed, lashing out at an empty desert. Reiatsu surged from the blade, cutting a valley through the sand. Darkness swirled at the edges of his reiatsu like dark fire, tainting his power in a way he’d never asked for. 

 

He needed room to think, but his thoughts still stuttered to a halt at a recent memory. Kurosaki had looked at him like he was the source of all his pain, like he was a ghost come back to haunt him. Why bring him back if he couldn’t even face him? 

 

Grimmjow grit his teeth and raked his claws over Pantera’s blade. “GRIND, PANTERA!” 

 

Reiatsu spiked, blue and black power sweeping sand and dunes flat in his fury. He howled, flexing all his power and then some. Fucker made him stronger, he’d never had this much reiatsu before. It hung around him like a storm, feeding off his distress. He wanted to tear something apart with teeth and claws, maim and kill it. He’d never been much of a sadist, but fuck if Kurosaki didn’t set his teeth itching for violence. 

 

He gave himself a good once over first, noting the differences with an emotion tied curiously between disgust and pride. He was strong, he had what he wanted, but at what cost? Clenching his claws into his hands, blood pooled and spattered the sand, healing instantly when he unclenched them. Well, his regeneration was back. He shouldn’t be surprised. Kurosaki wanted him safe, how much safer could he fucking get?

 

Sinking even further into his power, he let his segunda etapa swallow him up, black fur racing along his arms and spine. His skin itched with the need to stretch, unsure if that was his restlessness or a side effect of being dead. He turned full circle, giving himself a once over. Two tails twitched and lashed by his ankles, carelessly flicking blackened reiatsu from the ends. That was new. So was all the fur and claws. His hair was still long, still black, but even more unruly than he remembered. He lifted bladed hands to his face, feeling long, furred ears. He had a mouthful of sharpened teeth, if a bloody tongue was anything to show for it. That much was the same.

 

He took a page from Kurosaki’s book for once, and he hunted.

 

He didn’t know why, but the bottomless hunger he was used to feeling was more acute,  _ different _ . He wasn’t sure if it was Alteza or rage that drove it, but he wouldn’t doubt it was both. He tracked down an adjuchas and he tore it to shreds. There was no sport, it was just senseless, mindless slaughter.

 

Viscera shone on his claws and he snarled his fury at the desert as if it might provide an answer. Isn’t this what he wanted? He wanted to be the best, to hold this desert in the palm of his hand, and it brought him no joy. He felt how strong he was, he could kill Harribel and take her throne. He could kill everything. But to what end?

 

He found another adjuchas, avoiding the questions he so desperately wanted answered. He indulged every instinct he had, teeth and claws goring the thing long after it was dead. This wasn't him, he didn't kill for the sake of it, there was no purpose here.

 

He was drenched in hot blood and he felt no better for it. " _ Weak _ ," he snarled at the corpse. Weak and pathetic, and he killed them anyway. 

 

La sangre swarmed over his skin, consuming the blood he had no use for. He swiped and snarled at it anyway, the evidence of his kill devoured by an overzealous god. 

 

La sangre dragged the hollow into the sand, souls scattered and eaten. He could feel it there beneath taloned paws, sluggish and waiting, and he really didn't want to. He looked up, and he saw more than darkness. He saw nightmares. 

 

Whatever he saw beyond the sky moved, undulating and writhing. Slow, slowly, but moving nonetheless. No, he didn't want this, none of this. 

 

He wanted Kurosaki.

 

Not this.

 

Take the good with the bad, he'd learned that lesson early, but this was a whole lot of bad. 

 

_ This is what you wanted, Grimmjow. _

 

His chest heaved, panic racing up his spine and gripping his throat. Nothing to fight, nothing to kill, nowhere to go. He screamed, the sound more animal than human, he screamed until he had no energy left to scream, all his rage falling out from under him. It was replaced with longing.

 

He sank to his knees in the sand, glaring at his claws in hate. He’d been weak, he’d cost Kurosaki his sanity, his  friends, trust… he’d cost Kurosaki  _ him _ . For some reason the idiot still loved him. Loved him enough to hide behind his hollow when it mattered.

 

Was that fair? He understood shame. He didn’t want Kurosaki to see him cry, see him break down. He was stronger than this. A different body, changed without his consent, used by the same monster that had kept them apart… he  hated it. 

 

Hated it, but longed for him anyway. Months gone for Kurosaki was only hours for Grimmjow; he wanted him back in his arms, regardless of what he’d done, regardless of everything. But the sudden gap between them felt increasingly difficult to breach. 

 

The ever-present whispers in his mind were surprisingly quiet. He didn’t know why he expected them to be louder, but Alteza had very little to say, if it cared at all. He lifted his hand to his own chest, the pads of his fingers chasing the smoothed and jagged edged of a scar he didn’t remember getting. He felt trapped in his skin, like his body didn’t quite fit. He had the insane urge to dig his claws into his skin, to tear himself open. That sparked a memory that wasn’t his own, of Zangetsu clutching slippery, bloodied wrists, holding Kurosaki back, and the idea lost its appeal. 

 

So wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn’t realize he wasn’t alone. 

 

“Grimm-”

 

He whirled, attacking this stranger mid word, throwing them back onto the sand with all of his weight. They slid back on the sand, and he was glad then that he hadn’t attacked to kill. He held her flat with a hand on her throat, but his pressure eased in recognition. “Neliel?” His voice sounded rough, guttural.

 

She coughed, pushing at his arm. “Get off, I thought you were dead! Harribel said you were dead.”

 

He pulled back, letting her push herself to a slow sitting position, and she gingerly touched her chest and winced. She wheezed. “You broke...my collarbone...nice to see you too.” 

 

He hadn’t meant to do that, he almost felt bad. Was this how Kurosaki felt when he hurt people on accident? He growled, “Well, I ain’t dead anymore.”

 

Her eyes widened, looking him over for what seemed to be the first time, and she asked, “Anymore?”

 

Before she could question him further, he asked, “I know I’m supposed to be dead, but why do you look so surprised to see me?”

 

“We thought...we thought you were Ichigo?”

 

“What?”

 

Neliel hauled herself to her feet with another wince and gust of breath and said, “Szayel got a hit on Ichigo-– well we thought it was Ichigo-– for the first time in  _ weeks _ . I’m glad you’re alive but… we were kind of hoping to find Ichigo.”

 

Grimmjow scoffed. “Fuck you too.” He bared sharpened teeth. “Did you all forget how to sense reiatsu while I was dead?”

 

Neliel blinked, as if this statement was even more baffling than finding him instead of Kurosaki. “You don’t know?” She asked.

 

“Kow what?” he snapped.

 

She started to shake her head, regretted it and said, “I can’t sense your reiatsu at all, nobody can. I’d say you were hiding it, but this looks like a Segunda Etapa.” Questions shone  in her eyes. “That should be impossible.”

 

That shocked Grimmjow into wide-eyed silence. His reiatsu was different?

 

“Why are you in segunda etapa?”

 

“None of your goddamned business,” he snarled.

 

She lifted her hand to the hilt of her sword, thoughtful, and tilted her head. “Will you come speak to Harribel?”

 

“No.”

 

“Will you speak to me?”

 

“No!”

 

She sighed and said, “Please, Grimmjow.” He didn’t respond, so she switched tactics. “You broke my collarbone, you owe me.”

 

Clenching his teeth, Grimmjow growled,  “What do you want?”

 

“Why aren’t you with Ichigo?”

 

It was a simple question, but one he didn’t have the heart to hear. His breath fled him in a heavy exhale that he couldn’t stop. Neliel wasn’t stupid, she saw the pain he tried so desperately to hide.

 

Neliel was very careful, she didn’t show pity, or sympathy. Her expression hardened and she said, “Talk to me.”

 

Grimmjow threw the offer back in her face. “Why the fuck would I talk to you?” 

 

“Because we’re equals,” she said sharply, “and unless you’re going to have a heart to heart with your fraccion, I don’t see anyone else here.”

 

He glared in mistrust for long enough that she sighed, annoyed. He hadn’t often seen her annoyed, and he wasn’t sure if it was pain, stress, or a combination of unknown factors, but she had little patience for him. “I’m not your enemy, Grimmjow.” His tails lashed, and he held his tongue, uncertain if he wanted to speak, leave, or chase her away. He wasn’t in the business of letting people close to his heart. It hurt, it wasn’t a weakness he was willing to share, but her offer was tempting. 

 

When the silence stretched, she asked bluntly. “Did you fuck?”

 

“What?!”

 

“You heard me. Did. You-”

 

“No!” She narrowed her eyes, skeptical, and Grimmjow felt the need to defend himself. “No, we didn’t fuck.”

 

She cocked her head. “Didn’t you want to?”

 

He blinked, tails stopping mid-thrash. “What?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Grimmjow,  _ please _ , Ichigo never drops his guard for anyone but you, and I’ve never seen you give a damn about anyone but yourself.”

 

Were they so obvious? From the look on her face, they were.

 

“Don’t be a coward, Grimmjow, talk to me.”

 

“What good does talking do?” He hadn’t meant it as a real question, he just wanted to be contrarian for the sake of it, but the second the words left his mouth, he realized he meant it.

 

Her eyes pointedly flicked off towards the horizon, back at  his last kill, but she was also making a statement. She looked away from a potential threat, she wasn’t afraid of him, she was treating him as an ally. She solidified that nonverbal arrangement by turning her back and walking towards las Noches. “You’re not getting anywhere on your own, are you? Unless you wiped the dunes with some random adjuchas out of sheer joy over your epiphanies.”

 

“Bitch,” Grimmjow breathed. He scowled at her back, ears twitching in irritation, then followed after her. He dropped out of his segunda etapa, sheathing his sword and his bloodlust along with it. She was right, she wasn’t his enemy,  and violence hadn’t made him feel better. He couldn’t even get a good fight out of her, if he’d accidentally snapped her collarbone. She was sweating a little, but she didn’t let the pain get to her. Tough bitch. 

 

They walked for a long time in silence, their boots hissing on the sand, and she didn’t press him again. Most hollows were used to silence; this silence was companionable, and surprisingly… wanted. He wasn’t alone, and he hadn’t considered how desperately he hadn’t wanted to be.

 

Las noches was a long ways off, and Neliel seemed content to walk with little to no hurry. She was giving him time, and he still didn’t want to talk, but he had no other recourse.

 

“Kurosaki is a wreck,” he said. “And it’s my fault.”

 

She stopped, facing him and said, “You were dead.”

 

“Exactly,” he hissed. “I died on him and he fell apart.” Her brows fell, but she didn’t contest him, she believed him. 

 

He half expected her to argue or not listen, but she faced him and challenged, “But you’re alive. Why aren’t you with him?” It was accusatory on purpose, and it stung as deeply as they knew it would. 

 

If he knew how to answer, he might have. They were alone, he had the power here, but he didn’t know what to say. “It’s complicated.”

 

She hummed and looked from the scar on his chest, to his mask. “I’ve no doubt.”  Her eyes flicked back up to meet his, and she asked a simple question. “Do you love him?” He didn’t answer, he didn’t think he needed to. She inclined her head, not a thoughtful gesture, but slightly aggressive. “Then you already know what to do, you just don’t want to do it.”

 

He clenched his jaw, because she was right. He knew what he wanted, he knew what they needed, he just didn’t like it. She turned away from him, and after a few moments standing on the dunes, he followed her. 

 

He didn’t have anywhere else to go.

  
  


\---xxx---

  
  


Harribel didn’t take to a throne like Barragan had. She met Grimmjow in a random hall, in a random corridor of Las Noches. He’d always considered himself an Espada first, since that’s what he’d always been, but this new reception reminded him that wasn’t true. Las Noches wasn’t inherently his home anymore, nor were these hollows necessarily his allies.    
  
Knowing they wouldn’t risk Kurosaki’s wrath didn’t make him lower his guard any less.  

 

“Why can’t I sense your reiatsu?” Harribel demanded.

 

“I don’t owe you anything,” Grimmjow rumbled.

 

She blinked slowly, dipping her head in acquiescence. “That’s fair. Why are you here, Grimmjow?”

 

“You want me to go?” Grimmjow asked. “I’ll go.”

 

“That isn’t what I asked you.”

 

“I don’t know,” Grimmjow said truthfully. “Don’t got anywhere else to be.”

 

“I hear you’ve been dead, so perhaps you’re unaware, but Ichigo declared his intentions to be less than hospitable to any hollow that crosses his path. Why should I not return that favor?”

 

Grimmjow scoffed. “You won’t. You’re not the petty type.” He shrugged. “Can make me do shit anyways.”

 

Harribel sighed. “The both of you make things difficult. Although I suppose a good ruler doesn’t need to rely on strength.”

 

Grimmjow’s brows furrowed, surprised by how forthcoming that statement was. She waved him off. “You’re not subject to my rules, you’re Ichigo’s. I have no choice but to coexist, there’s no need for a false front.”

 

_ Ichigo’s _ . Everyone assumed it, even Grimmjow.

 

She rolled her shoulder in a shallow shrug. “Do what you like, but leave my arrancar alone.”

 

Baring his teeth, Grimmjow hissed. “I’ve no business with weaklings.”

 

It wasn’t taken as a threat, Harribel wouldn’t have brushed him off if it was. “Do what you like, Grimmjow, I have no desire to make an enemy of Ichigo.”

 

He thought he should have been annoyed that she wasn't taking him seriously, but he realized that wasn't the case. He was different, and she recognized it. He no longer had a desire to be a king. Unless he was King over ashes, he knew what it entailed, and it no longer captured his interest. His interest was in someone. That reminded him. “What do you want with Ichigo?”

 

Her eyes narrowed, suddenly serious. “As Ichigo once said, the desert is his; I have a problem that cannot be resolved by a hollow. He's been missing for months with no way to contact him. If I thought you would take me to him, I would have asked."

 

Grimmjow's nose scrunched in a grimace at her blatant audacity to think she knew what he thought, and that she was right. He asked instead, "What's the problem?"

 

"Don't pretend to care, Grimmjow."

 

He scoffed and turned his back, having no destination in mind, he simply didn't want to be there anymore. " _ Fine _ ." Then he'd stop pretending. 

 

"Keep an eye on him, Neliel."

 

The Espada did her best to not look disappointed, dipping her head in a shallow nod. "Heika." She watched Grimmjow pass, then trailed behind him.

 

Being followed got old fast, this must be how Kurosaki felt all those years. Or maybe only in the beginning. He hadn’t  seemed to mind near the end. The end of what? He cut that train of thought off before it led someplace unsavory. Grimmjow growled. "I don't need a babysitter, go fix your collarbone."

 

"Orders are orders," she answered from someplace behind him.

 

From her tone, she didn’t seem too excited by the prospect either. He said, "Look, I'm not into people watching me sleep. Go find something to do."

 

"You're tired?"

 

For a moment, he was confused by the question, then it hit him. "Being dead ain't the same thing as  _ sleeping _ . Scram."

 

Her silence felt speculative, so he turned to look, seeing her running through the probability he was lying to be rid of her. He wasn't. He didn't fancy himself a liar, it was too much work.

 

If he was being honest with himself, it wasn’t just an excuse, he really was tired. Not physically, but he was mentally drained and he needed to stop for a moment. He needed everything to  _ stop _ ; it was too much, too fast. He liked to think he could adapt, he was a survivor. But he needed a break.

 

"Fine," she relented. "Don't go far."

 

That’s right, he was spiritually invisible. That was new, but also strange. Now that he knew about it, it was freeing. He had no doubt Kurosaki could find him, but the demigod wasn't going to come looking. Not right then anyway. Just about disappearing from notice was a perk he never thought he'd have or appreciate. 

 

She cast him one final look before she flickered into sonido. It was a look shared between allies, or maybe even friends. He never considered Neliel a friend, but she definitely wasn't an enemy. They both cared for Kurosaki, and that seemed to be ties enough for the other arrancar to express concern. 

 

A year ago, he'd have been insulted, but that sentiment had changed. Looking out for someone didn't make them less. He never thought less of Kurosaki, only more. A single need to defeat him had splintered and become  something far more complex.

 

Before his thoughts ran rampant he focused on finding someplace alone. He still had a room here, probably, but he didn’t want something familiar, he wanting something new, something sterile of memories. 

 

It was easy to find. A simple, blank room with a simple futon. It was devoid of any traces of reiatsu, and smelled of nothing but cold desert wind. It felt relatively safe. 

 

He wasn’t scared of these arrancar, so he wasn’t so sure what he felt safe from, but it eased his nerves. He took  Pantera from his side and sat on the edge of the futon, his sword lying on his thighs. Safe.

 

As much as he wanted to be alone, he detested it. The silence rang in his ears, deep and heavy, and gave his thoughts all the space they needed to scream. He clenched his hands on Pantera, claws scraping the shealth. He felt that in his soul, but it still felt wrong, like a thin layer persisted between the part of his soul he valued most. Even in his segunda etapa it felt different in a way he couldn’t explain.

 

Flopping onto his side, he held Pantera to his chest and closed his eyes. He wasn’t dead, he should be fine. Everything was fine.

 

He curled around his sword and tried to think about nothing, he tried to sleep. He’d accepted he was going to die, he’d been ready for it, yearned for it to stop. To be alive again was…

 

Jarring.

 

He didn’t want to die anymore, that primal fear was clawing at the back of his neck, but the exhaustion he felt was real. His skin still itched to run and fight and kill but he had no purpose. Torn two ways, he squeezed his eyes shut and willed his mind to shut up.

 

He kept thinking about him. He tested his name on his tongue, he whispered, “Ichigo.” His name felt unfamiliar, but no one was there to criticize that but himself. It was almost forbidden, and it lured him into saying it again.

 

“Ichigo.”

 

The crippling guilt and hate in his eyes haunted him. He was used to seeing fear, rage, but never this. How did he fix this. Could he fix it? Did he want to? A small, bitter corner of his heart hissed that Kurosaki deserved it. He should have killed him when he had the chance.

 

But could he have done the same for Kurosaki? He didn’t think so. Striking him, rending flesh with claws, had felt good, but would he have the stomach to end his life? No...he didn’t think so.

 

He slept, and he dreamt. There were no nightmares, only dreams of a place he knew and people he didn’t remember.

 

He woke up confused, torn from a dream that had felt so real. He was confused where he was for a moment, but footsteps jolted him into the present. He sucked in a deep breath and sat up, recognizing that reiatsu anywhere. Szayel.

 

The scientist turned the corner and leaned in the doorframe, arms crossed and looking more smug than usual.

 

“How did you find me?” Grimmjow demanded.

 

Szayel smiled, looking pleased he had someone to brag to. “Once I was informed it was  _ you _ my sensors picked up, it only took some tweaking to distinguish between you and Kurosaki.”

 

So his newfound anonymity didn’t apply to Szayel. He really did know how Kurosaki felt. “What do you want?”

 

Szayel pushed back from the door frame and stepped into the room. “How did you do it?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“You’re like  _ him _ now. How?” The scientist's voice was steady, but there was a sharp light of fascination on Szayel’s face that Grimmjow didn’t much appreciate.

 

"Why would I tell you?" Feeling spiteful and finally having a target, Grimmjow stood, Pantera clenched in his left hand. He hissed, " _ Jealous _ ?"

 

Szayel frowned, but didn't back down.

 

"Hate me, don't you? You want him, and you know you'll never have him."

 

Szayel leaned back when Grimmjow stepped close, invading his personal space. His eyes narrowed and his lip curled in disgust. “I don’t know what he sees in you.”

 

“Does it matter?” Grimmjow growled.

 

“You were never the strongest, the smartest, you weren’t even the most attractive.” Szayel leaned in with a sneer. “You don’t deserve this gift.”

 

“ _ Gift _ ,” Grimmjow mocked. He let out a bark of laughter, his hand snapping out for Szayel’s throat. If the arrancar cared he might be on the verge of a brutal death, he certainly didn’t show it. Grimmjow squeezed, wanting nothing more than to kill him. He could do it, it would be easy, but was it worth the mess? “You don’t know shit.”

 

He threw Szayel to the ground hard, which felt infinitely better than senseless slaughter. The arrancar caught himself on his hands, coughing through laughter. “What’s stopping you? Harribel? Confused morals? Kurosaki” He laughed harder and pushed himself up to stand. “So tell me, how does one become Kurosaki’s  _ bitch _ ?”

 

Grimmjow didn’t think, the sudden need to hurt him scraped up his insides with desire la sangre responded to. Darkness swarmed over Szayel’s skin and pain spread across his face in a grimace. An understanding that did not belong to him whispered in his thoughts and Grimmjow  _ knew _ . He reached for Szayel’s throat, lifting him off the ground so all of his weight was on his throat. Szayel’s hands gripped his wrist, and pale yellow eyes fixed on him in fear, and Grimmjow had to admit that felt good. 

 

He backed him into the wall, teeth bared in disgust. “You want it?” he hissed.

 

Szyel’s jaw worked, he formed a single word without sound. Yes. 

 

Grimmjow snarled, “Fine. _ Take it _ .” He pushed him back into the wall, holding him up off the ground, and la sangre swarmed around them both, whispers and distant voices eager for fresh blood. Szayel thought he knew what he wanted. Chasing perfection when there was nothing but entropy at the end of that road. He loathed this scientist, not that he could place why. Was it him? Was this desire even his? Was it Alteza’s, Kurosaki’s? Fuck.  

 

He dropped Pantera and brought his other hand to Szayel’s crotch, he squeezed his dick in his claws. He dug talons through fabric into soft flesh and Szayel’s jaw worked in a silent scream. He could just tear him in half and be done with it. He should. He could kill him, but he wanted him to  _ suffer _ .

 

Grimmjow grit his teeth in disgust, curling his claws through his hollow hole. Szayel trembled in his hands in pain and Grimmjow took his time. La sangre licked off his hands and clung to Szayel, greedy for the souls he held in his claws. It crawled down Szayel’s throat and the arrancar started to fight. Whether he wanted it or not didn’t matter, it was only natural to fight.

 

He stared at the scar Kurosaki had left on his face. He could see it now so clearly, and it brought him a kind of visceral joy he’d never felt before. Gift. Yes, he’d give him a  _ gift _ .

 

Willing la sangre into Szayel’s soul he let it devour and change, he forced it to irreversibly change him. Not a conduit, just tied to la sangre in a way his soul would be eaten like kindling the way his own was. If anyone deserved to go mad, to forget who they were, it was Szayel. After what the arrancar  _ did _ to him.

 

Grimmjow dropped Szayel and stepped back, watching the hollow writhe in pain at his feet. 

 

Phantom pain ghosted over his skin and he lifted his arm to look. Nothing. He smoothed his hand over his wrist to  erase that feeling, staring in newfound horror at Szayel as he began to scream.

 

Why did he do this?

 

Why?

 

He swallowed, eyes flicking to Pantera. He bent to pick it up, replacing it at his side and then he left Szayel screaming. He screamed  and screamed, echoing off the walls and following him down the hall. He couldn’t pin why, but the sound was almost soothing; like music. The arrancar deserved it.

 

He just couldn’t remember why, and even if he did, it couldn’t be his memory. He knew Szayel had hurt Kurosaki, but this? Kurosaki never told him about  _ this _ . Kurosaki never would have wanted to burden him with this on purpose, so if he felt it now, it was so deeply a part of Kurosaki that he couldn’t be rid of it.

 

He needed to talk to him, but he still didn’t know what to say. 

 

His feet carried him to Neliel, who seemed to have been following the screams. She gave him a once over, looked past him and asked, “What did you-”

 

“Drop it. He’s alive.” It wasn’t a subject he was willing to broach, whoever’s feelings they were, he didn’t want to pour salt over it. She inhaled to speak again and again he cut her off. “Tell me what happened. I need to know.”

 

“What do you already know?” she asked.

 

“Assume I don’t know shit. I need to know what he did.”

 

He didn’t mean to sound so desperate, but his tone was too fast, too clipped.

 

She shot another worried look down the hall, then turned and said, “Let’s find someplace to talk.” She didn’t say if it was a long story, or a short one, he didn’t know what to expect. 

 

Zangetsu showed him the aftermath, but he didn’t know what actually happened. Kurosaki wasn’t going to tell him, not in any detail. He reeked of shame, but not regret. He’d been hell bent on bringing him back, but he hated himself all the more for it.

 

Grimmjow followed her until he couldn’t hear Szayel’s screams anymore. He was disappointed.

  
  


\---xxx---

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! ; A ; thank you so much for your kind words and screeching on the last chapter. I read! I love! I want to gift you a chapter in return, I'm so close to the end now!


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